Growing Up In Terminal City
by The Hermione Granger Fan Club
Summary: The autobiography of Free, the daughter of two X5s, and her perspective on growing up in Terminal City. Will probably cameo just about all of my original characters. Please read and review! Tenth chapter up!
1. Introduction

My name is Free and I am the child of two X-series, X5s to be exact. I'm twenty-four and for the first eight years of my life I lived inside Terminal City with my family.   
  
I was brought up to think of everybody who'd been born in Manticore, or born of the Manticore transgenics, as my family. Specifically, my blood relatives were an older half-brother, a younger sister and my parents, Kara and Splint.   
  
I remember walking down the greyed street, hanging off one of my mother's hands with my sister holding onto the other hand. I couldn't have been older than five. The sky was blue above me, and while the scene was more like a slum than most of post-Pulse America put together, it was my home and I felt happy. Transgenics to left of me, transgenics to the right. There seemed to be more every year. Perhaps that's why nothing phases me. You don't get easily phased after growing up with animal-human hybrids for neighbours, a woman who could snap your neck if you played up for a schoolteacher and reporters constantly hassling us for gossip and interviews.   
  
My sister was Steel, my half-brother was Justin. All our names are complete jokes. Take Justin, for example. You might think that a pretty ordinary name for someone related to an X-series, but you'd be wrong if you knew where it came from.   
  
My parents had a love-hate sort of relationship. They met in Terminal City when Mom was pregnant with Justin, a child of the Manticore breeding programme. Dad kept insisting it would be a girl, and Mom kept telling him she was sure it would be a boy. So Dad comes into the room where Mom had just given birth and says, after congratulating her on a job well done, "What's her name, then?"  
  
Mom snapped. "Just in, you moron," she hissed. "The baby's a boy!"   
  
So that became Justin's name. Two years later, I was born. I was about two weeks late, and the first thing Dad said to me when I was born was, "You're free, kid!"  
  
Dad was blind drunk the night Steel was born. He thought Mom was gonna die in childbirth- everyone said she wasn't going to make it. Drowning his sorrows (to this very day no-one knows how the hell he managed to get his hands on alcohol), he found out his little girl was born just before he passed out.   
  
By the time he was able to come and see Steel, he was still kinda woozy so he dropped her on the floor. Everyone stared in shock at tiny little Steel, lying there motionless. Was she dead?  
  
Then she started crying, a bit shaken but fine. Mom cradled her, smacked Dad upside the head and a passing X8 remarked, "That girl's made of steel!"  
  
Dad was always accident-prone, even when he was growing up in Manticore. The adults used to tell us gruesome stories about that place, so that none of us feared Hell, exactly- we had Manticore. Dad was named Splint as a young child because he was always breaking limbs or getting weird allergic reactions to things. It was thought to be his genetic anomaly because he didn't get seizures.   
  
Dad was also a local celebrity because he was the X5 brother of our leader, the X5 Max Guevara. A lot of her brothers and sisters were dead. They were like urban legends, almost like our fairytales. There was Tinga 'Penny' Smith, who had given herself up to Manticore so that her child Case, the first ever child of an X5, could live. There was the Great Storyteller, Ben Blueman, who had died rather than gone back. There was Jace Morales, who as far as I know is still living in Mexico with her only child, Max 'Little Max' Morales. She overcame a 'simplification' to escape there so that her daughter could live a normal life.   
  
All of us second-generation X-series are endowed with basically, the same abilities as our parents. We have no barcodes. In a couple of generations, our genetically-enhanced 'powers' will have been bred out, save for the odd great-grandchild with incredible vision or super-strength.   
  
When we were finally to leave Terminal City, I was eight years old. Justin was ten, and Steel was seven. There had been a final battle that had brought to the attention of the public our plight. My father, Splint, was killed.   
  
Our family appears in a tape of the news coverage of the battle. The footage was most of the reason the public realised how unfair they'd been.   
  
It shows a street in Terminal City close to where my family was living crowded with dead transgenics, their families sifting through the wreckage to try and find their bodies. A man is lying on the street, the front of his shirt soaked with blood from being shot through the heart. A woman (my mother Kara) and three children (Justin, Steel and myself) crouch over the body. My mother is crying uncontrollably. Even though she did smack him around a lot and often felt exasperated with him, she loved him.   
  
There we are in the tape, which sometimes airs in documentaries on the transgenic population of Seattle. My brother, my sister, me. We are crying quietly.   
  
A week or two later, a peace treaty was reached with the world outside and we left Terminal City for the first time. We lived in the Outside on and off until I was twelve, when we left for good and settled in a neighbourhood nearby.   
  
Terminal City was between being a terrible and a wonderful place to spend your childhood. There was the unity, the satisfaction of rising above adversity with those you loved the most. But then again, there was the limited food and water, the violence and the bigotry against us all. We were openly hated for simply being born.   
  
The children born and, for the first part of their lives, raised inside the City were simply that. Children. We were like any normal children, like the offspring of any Ordinary but we had been thrust into a weird situation.   
  
Even outside the City, I still tended to lean toward transgenics and see only them as true allies. A peace treaty could not hope to instantly wipe childhood memories of abuse screamed at us from the other side of a fence. It couldn't make us want to go to non-transgenic schools, or smile when Steel brought home her first boyfriend, an Ordinary.   
  
Justin was our protector- Dad always said he reminded him of the famous X5 CO, Zack. We grew up with military jargon uttered like casual slang around us, and we couldn't help but say things like, "Move out." when we were leaving to see our friends or "There is no I in team." when Steel was sulky.   
  
Steel was the baby of the family, my adorable little sister. She constantly pestered Mom and Dad for tales of their own childhoods as a small girl, fascinated with things like gene therapy and drills.   
  
And then there was me. Named jokingly for something I couldn't know for my first years and brought up in a siege, my mother widowed and my extended family hundreds strong, I am blessed with almost total recall of my early years and will likely never forget growing up in Terminal City.   
  
* * *   
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Not me. So don't sue. 


	2. Chapter One: Early Years

When I was young, the world was divided into two places- the City and the Outside. The Outside was scary and filled with people who wanted to hurt me, but had enough food and water and electricity for everyone. My home, Terminal City, was populated with transgenics- my family- but could be said to be little more than an oversized slum.   
  
I remember walking along with Justin and Steel and some of the neighbours' children. We lived close to the perimeter fence of Terminal City. Although the initial shock of our existance had died down years ago, you could often find sector police, scattered protestors and a fair few looking for a cheap thrill.   
  
We got into a shouting match with some of the protestors, who began throwing things at us.   
  
It is a clear memory... Steel's hand in mine, Justin and his friends yelling and my confusion. Why did these people want to hurt us, to make us feel bad? We hadn't done anything to them...   
  
That incident was the first of many clear messages that we were ungodly, unwanted savages... inhuman, with no purpose but as a diversion for these Ordinaries in their facile little lives. We were better dead than alive, no matter how much we tried to prove that transgenics were just as intelligent and moral and, well, ordinary as anybody who lived on the Outside.   
  
Ghastly rumours circulated about us on the Outside. They said we practiced cannibalism and worshipped animal gods. This was utter crap, of course. There were supporters, but they were few.   
  
From the first days of the freak nation until around the time that Steel was born, there were newspaper articles about us in tabloids almost every day. Reporters would clamour by the perimeter, begging for the chance to take pictures of us, talk to us for just a moment... they were more like ravenous beasts than we could ever dream of being. Mom or Justin or whoever was with us would hurry us along, saying don't talk to them, just keep walking, don't look scared or embarrassed, don't give them the satisfaction.  
  
We didn't have much technology in there. There are no pictures of me before the age of ten. I had an incredibly strong stomach and could easily digest undercooked food, and healed quickly from things like colds or viruses. What meagre funds were donated to us in secret by supporters were always spent on buying enormous amounts of Trytophan on the black market for the X-classes. Steel had seizures brought on by psychological conditions: stress, grief or intense fear and also needed the drug regularly to control them.   
  
The saddest cases to pass on the street were anomalies kept locked in the Manticore basement for most of their lives, reindoctrinated and 'simplified' X-series or X7s, who couldn't talk. Some X7s willingly learnt sign language to communicate with other citizens, but others stubbornly stuck with their own class.   
  
Another memory comes to me when I think of my early years- Cora, the animal-human girl who was my next door neighbour. She looked catlike, had an X6 father and an even more catlike mother, although her mother was not furred or carnivorous. She seemed to be named for Manticore, which I thought an extremely strange choice for a name but her mother explained to me in purring tones one night that she was actually named for the incredible feeling they got as they watched Manticore burn from a hill. Cora's parents had always been more independent that Manticore had liked, and had had to hide it so they wouldn't get into trouble.   
  
It was night. I was about four or five, Cora was a year older. As per usual for Seattle, it was raining, and we were sitting on the front steps to a building. On clear nights children would play in the streets, although the adults frowned upon it.   
  
The rain finally slowed to a drizzle and then stopped completely. We were ankle-deep in water as the two of us climbed off the steps to jump in the puddles, something we did because we didn't mind the cold and the wet (I didn't, Cora did but copied me anyway) and because it was something we'd seen Ordinary children do as they lingered outside the fence on their way home from school.   
  
Cora stopped because she could hear something. I slowed down and listened.   
  
There was something happening in the next street. A fight. Some anti-transgenics had gotten through the perimeter fence and were caught vandalising one of the houses. The transgenics were outraged and made no move to rescue them when they were beaten up by some X8s. The vandals were released as a warning to what would happen to over-the-top anti-transgenics, but their 'heroic story' complete with such quotes as, "... the two brave young men were brutally attacked by the Terminal City transgenics..." and "... they escaped using cunning and phenomenal intelligence..."  
  
I remember watching them get beaten up and feel both afraid and thrilled by the scene of violence in front of me. In a way, the tabloids were right. We transgenics tend to thrive on scary situations. It's the way we were made.   
  
I grew apart from Cora as the years went by, but grieved for her when I learnt she'd been tortured and killed in the riot where my father also died. Cora was only nine years old when she died, and was killed because she wouldn't let the rioters into her home. She was a wonderful person.   
  
We accepted the fact that our parents were not entirely human and in turn, neither were we. We asked innocent questions such as, "If my father is an X5 and so is my mother, what class does that make me?" We clamoured with questions our parents didn't know how to answer.   
  
There wasn't an awful lot of history for the freak nation if you really considered it. Our parents and relatives had been born in Manticore. Twelve members of the X5 class had escaped in 2009. Then four of them- our leader Max Guevara, her brothers Zack and Krit and her sister Syl- had taken down the Manticore facility. And some time later, the transgenics had made their home inside Terminal City. That was basically it.   
  
I can truly say I stopped acting young one day when I was six. Justin, then eight years old, was dared by a friend to climb over the fence. I begged him not to, but Justin, while our protector, was at heart a reckless little boy. He scaled a part of the fence unguarded by Ordinaries, but was seen and chased up and down the perimeter while Steel and I stood, terrified, wondering if we'd ever see him again.   
  
He scrambled over the fence a nerve-wracking fifteen minutes later, covered in bruises and nicks and sporting a nasty black eye. Luckily he'd gotten some X8s to teach him the self-defence moves they'd been learned in Manticore so he was able to escape the Ordinaries. Barely. And so Steel and I ushered him home, shaken and angry, both at our brother and at the entire Outside. Truly assuming the role of protector for perhaps the first ever time, I lost my naive, unquestioning innocence and became a true child of the freak nation.   
  
* * *   
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Not me. So don't sue. 


	3. Chapter Two: Holiday Ties

I'm sitting on the steps of my first home in Terminal City with my little sister Steel. It's Christmas. She's six, I'm seven.   
  
As usual, it was freezing cold, but not cold enough for snow. Christmas was something they celebrated on the Outside and it meant that Justin, Steel and I got new shoes. Steel had made Mom some junk earrings- she was very creative- and I'd wracked my brain to try and think of something for Dad. Finally, Justin had helped me knock together a crude pair of collapsible crutches for when he broke bones and there was nobody around.   
  
Steel had found an economy tin that had used to have coffee in it and was using it like a toy car, racing it along the step. "Vrrroom!" she sang out, laughing.   
  
Mom had invited some friends over- they were playing cards inside. Dad and Justin had gone out on a Secret Mission. They'd been out for about an hour and still weren't back.   
  
My mother Kara was the X5 clone (she preferred 'twin' as it sounded more human) for the X5 known as Eva. Eva was one of the heroes of the 2009 escape- she'd held a gun to the one known as Lydecker, and been shot through the chest to save our leader, Max, who was then only nine years old like Justin. Max Guevara refused to use guns as a result of this incident.   
  
When Mom, heavily pregnant with Justin, had come to Terminal City, the remaining X5s of the group who escaped (there hadn't been many as most were dead or emigrated or AWOL) had been in awe of her as she was what Eva would have looked like had she grown up. Their personalities were different though. Mom was outspoken where the long-dead Eva was gentle, but both were very brave. Mom was impatient and exuberant where this Eva tended to blend in.   
  
"Eeeeeeeaaaa! Nee-na, nee-na!" called Steel, making her tin can car bump repeatedly into my leg while she made ambulance noises.   
  
"Steel, don't do that!" I ordered.   
  
She scowled at me. "You're in my way. We have to get the seizing transgenic to the field hospital."  
  
"You're playing with a tin can, not a car."  
  
"Get out of the way! And it isn't a car; it's an ambulance. There's a difference, you know."  
  
"Cars have wheels."  
  
"They don't have to. How many cars have you ever seen? Dad said to me, he said that there are car-things without wheels that travel in the snow," said Steel importantly.   
  
I rolled my eyes. For such a small child I had a definite attitude problem. "Those are snowmobiles, dimwit."  
  
"Oh. In that case, this is a SNOWMOBILE!" cried Steel with glee, and she began making sound effects adjacent to what she thought a snowmobile sounded like. "Vrrrrrrr- we've got to chase down the escaping X5s and take them back to base! Vrrrrrrrrr!"   
  
"Don't do that," I said, both hurt and annoyed. "Dad and Mom are X5s. Why do you want to chase them down?"  
  
Steel waved her hand at me to indicate I should be quiet. "There's an X5... a little boy X5... I'm going after him!"   
  
"DON'T CHASE DOWN DAD!" I yelled at her, and with a swipe of my arm I sent the tin can flying over the road. Steel gaped after it in shock.   
  
"My car!" she wailed, bursting into tears.   
  
"That'll teach you to chase down Dad," I said maliciously.   
  
She glared at me. "I'll kill you!" she shrieked, and pounced. She had plenty of power in her hands and so did I, but we had no interest in actually learning to fight, so we basically just beat each other up like Ordinary children, doing a lot more damage.   
  
That was when Dad arrived home with Justin. He handed our brother the bundle he was carrying in his arms and pulled the two of us apart easily, holding us up in the air by the backs of our shirts.   
  
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, shaking us a bit.   
  
"She threw away my car!" wailed Steel.   
  
"She was gonna chase you down, Dad!" I countered.   
  
Dad deposited us on the ground, where we scrambled to our feet. Now that I look back, we were almost standing at attention. "I want both of you," he said quietly, "to go into the house quietly. No fighting or tantrums or dirty looks. Now."  
  
Christmas was definitely not as big a deal as it was on the Outside, because there were practically no religious transgenics. Still, it was excuse for some light heartedness to make it through to us and perpetuate our lives. Perhaps that why Dad had planned to take us to see a martial arts match that some younger X-series had organised, but consented to punishing Steel and I by leaving us at home.   
  
It was the evening. Although chilly, it wasn't raining and I went into the makeshift kitchen to find my little sister playing with a cigarette box. Steel was making her usual sound effects, but boredly. We were home alone.  
  
"What's that you're playing with? An airplane?" I asked, trying to make peace. I sat down next to her.   
  
"You're close. It's a helicopter," she said.  
  
"Who are you chasing down?"  
  
"Nobody. I'm in the helicopter with you and we're going to the martial arts match and on the way we're gonna pick up Mom and Dad and Justin and all fly there together."  
  
"I've got an idea, Steel."  
  
"Uh-huh?"  
  
"Let's go to the martial arts match! I know where they're holding it; we can leave before the last fight and beat everyone else home. They'll never know we were gone!"  
  
Steel looked up at me with round brown eyes. I will never forget the look on my imaginative little sister's face as I proposed sneaking out. She grinned at me. "Let's move out."  
  
The two of us left the house. I caught a glimpse of the other side of the fence as we crept through the streets- strange colours lights had replaced the burning torches of the anti-transgenics. Someone had even set up a strange pointy tree with a creased paper star on the top.   
  
The martial arts tournament was well in swing by the time Steel and I arrived. A ring had been rigged up in the centre of the City, with a few bonfires burning here and there to make the place seem 'festive'. It was eerie and exciting.   
  
There was a furry feline soldier up against the current female X-series champion, my dad's X5 sister Amna. The two of us were small enough to push our way through the crowd to the front, where Amna and the cat-human waited patiently at opposite ends of the ring for everyone to place bets.   
  
"Aunt Amna!" yelled Steel, hopping up and down. Our aunt spotted us waving to her and looked surprised- we would soon find out why.   
  
The fight began. While other children in other parts of Seattle played with their presents or snuggled into warm beds, I stood at the edge of the ring, booing as my aunt took a blow to the head. She shook her head to try and dull the pain and as the opponents circled, she seemed to be muttering to herself- probably using pain-blocking techniques taught to her during her time in Manticore.   
  
"Duck!" I shrieked as the feline transgenic kicked out at my aunt. She easily blocked the kick and threw her on her back, yellow eyes seething into my aunt's determined black ones.   
  
"One!" yelled the crowd. "Two! Three!"  
  
"Down for the count!" called the judge, Amna's favourite X5 brother, our Uncle Omri. He couldn't fight that night because he had broken his wrist a day before. Mom had said dryly that he must've been spending too much time with our dad.   
  
"You were great, Aunt Amna!" I called. "You're the champion!"  
  
"And YOU'RE in trouble," said a voice behind us. We turned around in shock to find Mom standing there.   
  
"Mom!" I cried in shock. "How did you find us?"  
  
"Yeah, we weren't cheering that loudly," piped up Steel. One thing to be said for my little sister was that she was honest.   
  
"Extrasensory hearing," said Mom ominously. "I hate these kinds of things for all the noise, it does in my head, but I can never turn down a good fight. Besides, your dad felt guilty and went home to fetch you. He said for your Aunt Amna to keep an eye on Justin and me. You weren't there. But I suppose there's no point in sending you home again, is there?"  
  
She beckoned us and we followed her past the ring, where Aunt Amna's head was aloft in pride at being proclaimed the female X5 champion and past the straggly line of female X5s who were sulking and holding icepacks to various injuries. Aunt Amna had beaten them up.   
  
"I found them," sang out Mom as we reached Dad and Justin. "By the ring, cheering your sister on."   
  
"I thought I told you girls to stay at home?"  
  
"It's Christmas, Dad," said Justin in a jokey voice. "We're a family, aren't we?"  
  
"Well, I'm not taking them home," said Dad. "It's X6s next; I want to see 'em."  
  
"I'm not either," said Mom, folding her arms across her front stubbornly. "I might have a turn in the ring during the random matches."  
  
Wow, I thought. My mother in the ring!  
  
"Have you learned your lesson?" said Dad.   
  
"Yes, sir!" chorused Steel and I. With a sigh, our parents led the way nearer to the ring where the X6 matches were beginning.   
  
It seems odd to me that my father punished my sister and I for fighting and relented, letting us watch others fight. It also seems odd to Ordinaries that I spent holidays as a child watching poker games or playing war games involving most of the neighbouring children, or the aforementioned martial arts match. The whole place was could definitely be a family- a very dysfunctional family, but a family nonetheless.   
  
* * *  
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Not me. So don't sue. 


	4. Chapter Three: The Fall of Terminal City

Transgenics are supposed to be brave. We are strong, intelligent, endowed with the precision and abilities of beasts. Mom tells me how she was not allowed to cry as a child if one of her sisters slammed her into the mat during sparring and her head snapped back painfully or even during the incident where her rifle went off by accident and shot her in the ankle. A similar occasion was related by Dad, except he was shot in the shoulder... rather, she was told curtly to, "Suck it up, soldier!" and made to complete a few sprints around the hall for being weak.   
  
I wondered in terror why I did not feel brave as my brother Justin crouched next to me with Steel behind us, as we waited for Mom and Dad to come back and give the all-clear for us to start running again.   
  
I was eight years old and a full-fledged war was going on in the City street. X-series and animal-humans were fighting outside. Usually, to watch a transgenic fight was a thing of savage beauty because they were so strong, so fast- they had spent their young lives diligently training and it showed.   
  
The gates of Terminal City had been broken open, and the Ordinary scum of the Outside had swarmed in. They'd taken some second-generation X-series prisoner and torched some buildings.   
  
Suddenly, Mom burst into the room. She had a gun in her hand and was wild-eyed.   
  
"Where's Dad?" I asked. We weren't even hiding in our own home. Mom had screamed at the three of us to run as she and her friends (the ones she liked to play cards with) had run off after the other fighters. We'd hidden in our home at first, but had heard the door being broken down and run upstairs to hide before escaping out of a window. Steel had seen Mom in an alley and had given the military sign language for BROWN HOUSE, LEFT SIDE- meaning we were going to go hide in a brown house on the left side of the City. It was a miracle to me that she'd found us, but she was alone.   
  
Mom bit at her lip. "I don't know, he's gone to help with barricading the gates so no more can get it. Now, kids, we're going to run as fast as we can. Fists up."  
  
"Why?" whispered Steel as we followed Mom out the door of the house.   
  
"If we look like we can fight, then there's less of a chance of being attacked," explained Justin.   
  
Red Xs had been spraypainted onto every wall. The street was nearly deserted now.   
  
A yell ripped the near-silence as we dithered by the door.   
  
"It's an X5! Don't let it get away!"  
  
I realised in a sickening second that they meant Mom. Mom bellowed, "Go, go, go!" and the three of us took off.   
  
Amazingly, there were enough anti-transgenics to take down even Mom. They held her on the ground. She screamed at us to run.   
  
"Mommy," whispered Steel fretfully. She couldn't keep up with us, she was too small.   
  
"We have to get outside the city," said Justin as we took a shortcut down an alley.   
  
"Outside? Are you crazy?" I asked, my voice unnaturally high. "Outside we'll be killed in days!"  
  
"Yeah, well, in the City we'll get killed in hours. Just be thankful that Mom and Dad aren't anomalies, otherwise everyone would know what we are."  
  
"Hello, kids," said an eerie voice as we came to a dead end, panting.   
  
I gasped and pressed up against the wall as a man holding a gun appeared behind us, seemingly out of nowhere. He grabbed a huge piece of wood propped up against the wall and pulled it down, jamming it between the two narrow walls.   
  
"Gonna kill me?" he asked softly, his eyes never leaving our terrified faces. "Gonna drink my blood or something, sacrifice me to your animal gods?"  
  
"We're not like that," said Steel, who was quaking. Her voice was strong, though. I had never been so proud of my little sister. "We're people. You don't even know what we're like."  
  
She suddenly collapsed, in the grips of a seizure. "Steel!" I cried, bending to pick her up.   
  
"Don't," said the man. "I'll do the little one a favour... dispose of her first, while she doesn't know what's happening. That's humane. But you wouldn't know what that means, would you?"  
  
"M-My pills," slurred Steel. "They're in my pocket..."  
  
Anguished, I looked at Justin, whose face was set. He looked at me and I knew what he was thinking. We had no way out.   
  
He cocked the gun and as Steel twitched on the gravel, I heard her whimper in fear.   
  
"Leave her alone," said Justin. "She's just a little girl. You want to kill a transgenic, kill me." I saw suddenly why Dad said he reminded him of the great CO, Zack. He was ten years old and would have given his life for us.   
  
"If you want," shrugged the man, and aimed the gun. I shut my eyes in fear, and dropped to the ground, finding Steel's small thin hand. I looked at Justin again. He knew what my eyes were saying to him. I love you, my face cried to him as he prepared to die.   
  
I knew somehow that he returned the sentiment.   
  
And suddenly, something dropped from overhead to save our lives. It was female, looked human. She landed in front of us and held up her fists, looking menacing. Her back was to us.   
  
She kicked the gun from the assassin's hand, sent it flying. There was silence.   
  
"You bitch," snarled the man, backing away. He knew he was no match for an adult X-series.   
  
This heroine made no answer. Her foot, complete with wicked army boot that she must've paid a month's rations for in the broken transgenic city, flew out once again and caught him in the forehead, sending him flying.   
  
Kick, punch, jab. This was the kind of savage beauty that I always seemed to see when I watched a transgenic fight. Her movements were almost impossible to see, the way her fists and feet shot out like a machine. There were several cracks as his bones snapped and finally he crumpled to the ground. He didn't seem to be dead.   
  
She turned around.   
  
"Mom?" asked Justin in confusion.   
  
She cocked her head silently and then shook it, pointing at Steel. We found her pills and put a few into her mouth. She still gave the occasional twitch, but her eyes were focused and she responded to commands. I hoisted her up easily and looked to the woman who looked exactly like Mom.   
  
And yet, she didn't. She was young, only about twenty-four. Combined with the fact that she couldn't talk, I took her to be an X7 clone and left it alone.   
  
She frantically beckoned us and we followed. Within a few minutes Steel and I were running, her arm around my shoulder. She broke away soon enough and ran in sync with Justin and I. The assumed X7 seemed to be making an effort to run slower so we could keep up.   
  
Everything went by in a blur until I found myself in a tiny room in Mom's arms, having the life hugged out of me. She had a gash over her eye.   
  
"How will we tell people who saved us?" I wondered aloud, looking at the woman who looked like Mom.   
  
She smiled a beautiful smile and did something I will never be able to forget. "Some call me Eva," she said hoarsely and darted out the door.   
  
To this day I am convinced it was a ghost. Spirituality is not a strong point with transgenics- our own reality is too black and white for us to believe in things we cannot see. But I saw her. She was living and breathing and she saved us.   
  
Mom had to leave us again, but dropped in every few hours to ease our minds. And finally sector police saw fit to stop the riot in case it spilled out into Seattle.   
  
As the four of us- Mom, Steel, Justin and myself- wandered down a street, there were reporters and people with cameras everywhere. We ignored them as best we could, but now we weren't on opposite sides of a fence. They had invaded us.  
  
Transgenics hauled their dead from almost demolished homes. Hateful red Xs were daubed along every sidewalk and a couple of transgenics had been lynched from their own doorways.   
  
"Dad!" yelled Justin as he spotted him on the ground. I will never be able to purge the image and sound from my mind. It haunts my dreams.   
  
My mother shot over to Dad, turning him onto his back. I remember thinking how glad I was that his eyes were closed, and thinking it was odd that I, a mature eight years old, found dead eyes scary.  
  
"Splint?" I heard her say. Her voice began to strain with worry as she talked. "Oh, no. Oh God. Splint? Splint, wake up, please! Splint, can you hear me? Oh, God, please wake up! Please!"  
  
And it hit me then that that was the first time in my entire life that I had ever seen my mother cry. She sobbed my dad's name into the air and held onto his shirt, laying her head on his chest. Justin and Steel and I stood behind her.   
  
Justin had immediately burst into tears. I instictively moved my hand to hold Steel's, but she had started forward, probably to try and comfort Mom. She found she couldn't walk any further and just stood there, gazing at her father in confusion. Her beautiful dark eyes were just like Dad's.  
  
My mouth was open. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted to be hurt so badly I would die too, so I could go with him. But I couldn't make it hurt. I felt like my skin was metal, or ice. I felt nothing.  
  
Something grew inside of me. Perhaps it was listening to Justin and Mom cry, or having no hand in mine to make me feel as if I wasn't all alone. I felt like I boiled inside, and very slowly I shook.  
  
And as I looked up, my eyes shining with tears, I found myself staring at a woman with a camera, taping us. I couldn't take it. It was the last straw. I snapped.   
  
"LEAVE US ALONE!" I screamed at her. "Haven't you done enough? Haven't you people on the Outside done enough?"  
  
I saw suddenly that the woman could barely hold up the TV camera. Her shoulders were slumped and a tear rolled from her eye. For the first time, she did not see us as monsters. She saw us as a family thrown into an awful situation.   
  
"I- I'm sorry," she whispered, gazing at our dead father in a mixture of fear and sadness.   
  
"Just- leave us alone," I ordered, beginning to cry like the child I was supposed to be. "We never did anything to you."  
  
It was another of many firsts as the woman with the camera actually heeded my plea, the plea of a second-generation X5. She backed away, eyes wide in an awesome terror and began to run, leaving us with our grief.   
  
* * *   
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Not me. So don't sue. 


	5. Chapter Four: No Longer Divided

Although I did not know it, my face was blasted across every television set in the nation and the surrounding countries. Millions heard my screams for them to just leave us alone and for the first time, felt ashamed.   
  
And finally, the famous Max Guevara signed a peace treaty. There were ninety of us crowded around a working television that someone had sneaked into the City, watching her on the news. A few of her living brothers and sisters stood with her, at attention like the soldiers they were born to be. They were smiling, though. As the leaders of Terminal City, they signed their names to the document. Max went last, and as she finished her name she grinned.   
  
My mom was crying a little but managed to cheer as loudly as anyone. It was a proud moment for us as we watched the great Max Guevara. I hugged Steel, who had been very quiet those past few weeks since Dad died. Nevertheless, she laughed and cried and cheered her head off just like everyone else. We were what Manticore had intended us to be, but better and stronger in a purer and more wonderful way. We were the greatest.   
  
We could now go outside the City for the first time ever. As the City's population prepared as one to walk through the gates as one for the first time, I certainly didn't feel like the greatest. I felt scared.   
  
"Free?" asked Justin, coming into the room us three kids shared. Mom and Steel were packing our meagre belongings in the front room.   
  
"That's what we are," I kidded.   
  
"I have an idea. C'mon." He withdrew a penknife from a pocket and dropped to the ground, wriggling underneath one of the low cots we slept on. As I joined him, he began to scratch something into the skirting board.   
  
He handed me the knife after a few minutes and I had my turn. I ran and fetched Steel and supervised her with the knife.   
  
And then, we left.   
  
As my primary family stood on the steps into the house and watched transgenics gather in the streets, Mom sighed. "I can't believe your dad didn't live to see this."  
  
We were silent.   
  
"Come on," she said, drawing herself up.   
  
"Mommy, why don't you cry?" asked Steel, her voice confused.   
  
I held Steel's hand for moral support as we drew closer to the gates. They had never looked so important before. There was a huge crowd just on the Outside, craning for a look at us.   
  
The great CO, Zack Thompson, took his honour as the first X5 leader by unlocking the now gates.  
  
We were breathless as we waited for the command to leave. Steel was almost crushing my hand. I went up on my tiptoes to see. It was a make-or-break point in transgenic history, like the death of X5 Eva or the burning of Manticore. And this time, I was there to see it.   
  
"Move out," he called to us, and we began to walk toward the Outside.   
  
It was clean and warm, with enough food and power and freedom for absolutely everyone, no matter what they looked like or who their parents were. It terrified me. As thousands of eyes stared at me, roving for barcodes or fangs or miscellaneous Manticore debris, I wanted nothing more than to be living inside Terminal City with both my parents and my siblings, not Outside with no dad and Ordinaries everywhere.   
  
Tensely, I broke into a run alongside my family as we left the City. I turned around for a second as transgenics pushed their way through the crowd. My huge extended family was being split up, tossed around, separated. Reporters were waylaying older transgenics but Mom managed to sneak us through. She'd traded four nights of winnings in her poker games for some concealing makeup to cover her barcode.   
  
Everything looked big and scary. For the first time my mom took us to a fast food restaurant. Steel, Justin and I gingerly nibbled cheeseburgers as she smiled at us.   
  
"I didn't like them much when I first got out," she said in a worldly way. "They'll grow on you."  
  
"It's Ordinary food," mused Steel, closely inspecting a French fry. "Mommy, what's this?"  
  
"Potato. Eat it," said Mom shortly. We were attracting a lot of odd looks.   
  
Transgenics were everywhere. I even spotted some old neighbours at a set of traffic lights and waved to them. The four of us sat on a bench in the park. I had a ratty pink backpack and Steel carried a plastic bag with her few possessions within. Justin and Mom shared a big suitcase. It was about noon by this time.   
  
"Mom, where are we gonna sleep?" I asked, swinging my skinny legs. "Are we going back into the City like the neighbours?"  
  
"Like hell," said Mom crisply. "I've slept in a leaky room the size of a closet for ten years with your father snoring in my ear. We'll rent an apartment for a little while."  
  
"But we ARE going back, right?" said Justin.   
  
"In due course. Let's move out."  
  
Darkness fell as we toured around the city. Mom left the three of us in a bar where we challenged some teenagers to a game of pool. We were doing quite well until Mom came back in.   
  
"I've found somewhere for us to stay," she said in a businesslike fashion. Steel was already rubbing her eyes as she dragged a complaining Justin and I out.   
  
I looked up at the stars. This had been my first ever day outside the City. The world wasn't split down the middle or divided into two any more. There were things called 'suburbs' or 'sectors' and the streets of Seattle seemed to wind away into darkness forever and ever.   
  
Steel was hiccupping and sniffling. I knew the feeling of my hand in hers would comfort her, but a terse, military, "Hurry it up!" came from my mother every time she lagged back with me.   
  
About fifteen minutes later we traipsed through the doors of a seedy apartment building. Sullen eyes stared from the shadows as Mom collected a door key from a silent mass of man behind a hardwood desk.   
  
The elevator was out. We climbed endless stairs until we found our room on the fifth floor, Room 503. Mom tried the key for eleven minutes until her patience seemed to snap and she kicked the door open.  
  
There were three small rooms- a tiny bathroom, a kitchen and a living area where I guessed we would sleep. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling in the kitchen and the living area. Justin, Steel and I gaped.   
  
"Um... let's explore," I volunteered and we spread out. The bathroom was a shower; sink and toilet all crowded into a positively illegal space. I gave the flush on the toilet an experimental pound with my fist.   
  
It made some sucking noises and then a threatening clunk, filling up with water almost to the seat. I gave Mom a pained look.   
  
"There's a bathroom block down the hall," she told me curtly.   
  
My half-brother, sister and myself changed into our Terminal City version of nightclothes- oversized t-shirts too ripped for the adult men to wear. Mom laid out our blankets on the floor of the front room and went to the kitchen to sleep.   
  
We didn't dare talk, as we knew Mom was probably awake. I stared at the ceiling and thought sulkily, In the City we had a room with cots. We had a tumbledown house and even though we had to share it with two other families, it had enough room for everybody. In the City we knew practically everyone... and we had our dad with us.   
  
The world sucked.   
  
For nine weeks we lived in there. Justin and I reached an unspoken timetable of taking Steel down the hall to the toilets because none of us dared to use our own, even in the depths of a cold and windy night. Mom got a job as a card dealer in a club and was often out late. She gave us money to go and get our own food- we were overwhelmed by the choice.   
  
We didn't make friends with the other children. They knew by our abrupt arrival that we must be transgenics and made no effort to talk to us. We missed Dad terribly, but the adults had always unwittingly given us the message that we were never to cry. I certainly never saw my mom cry after the day we found our father's body on the street.   
  
Justin and Steel became my best friends... my only friends. I felt so alone I would have happily jumped off the top of the building to see one familiar face. When I slept, I had nightmares and when I was awake, the whole world was a nightmare.   
  
Mom bought us a small TV and the three of us would sit around in our pyjamas in the evenings, religiously watching everything, even though I loathed almost every programme and didn't understand the humour. One evening, the canned laughter of the studio audience sounding even sadder because none of us so much as moved, Mom stormed through the door, which didn't lock properly because of her kicking it open that time.   
  
"Hi, Mommy. Did you have a good day?" asked Steel innocently.   
  
"No, I certainly goddamn didn't!" seethed Mom, stamping into the bathroom. She took off her makeup and let down her hair (literally) before drifting back into the front room with us.   
  
We were silent.   
  
"What happened?" asked Justin and I simultaneously.   
  
"You're too young to hear," she snapped. "Now, did you have a good day?"   
  
We muttered and murmured.   
  
"You should be in school," she mused. "You never missed even a day of school back in the City..."  
  
"Mom, I don't want to go to an Ordinary school," I said in a panic. "They'll tease me."  
  
"You'll have to," said Mom firmly. "You've been moping around here for weeks-"  
  
"Well, no one will play with us!" protested Steel.   
  
"- and anyone, no matter who their parents are, deserves an education. Besides, your teacher in the City is AWOL; she's been gone for about five weeks, so I've heard. I'm enrolling you in school!"  
  
And so it came to be that Steel, Justin and myself were enrolled in Ackland Hill Elementary School. It was covered in graffiti and had a few ratty trees outside. Ordinary children were swarming in every direction, calling to their friends. I wished like anything that I was two years older or a year younger- anything so that I would have a friend.   
  
The bell rang. Mom ushered the three of us inside. The front office was covered in children's artwork- painted puppets and prints leered down at me from every corner. I suddenly felt very small and weak. In my mind I ran amok, smashing and ripping and tangling everything in my path. Outwardly, I cowered behind my mother.   
  
I drifted through this alternate reality that was an Ordinary school and found myself finally in front of the class. A woman with a sarcastic smile told me, dearie, to please introduce myself to the class.   
  
I blinked at them, their eyes trained on me, knowing somehow that I wasn't one of them. It was like I was standing on the other side of frosted glass.   
  
I cleared my throat. "M-My name is Free Xavier and I'm eight years old. I like to... I mean, I... I..."  
  
I blushed.   
  
"Oh, but tell us where you've come from, Free, I'm sure the class is just DYING to know, Free, and what a pretty name that is..." burbled the teacher.   
  
I was willing to say anything to get her to shut up. "Terminal City," I muttered. I didn't see, even by then, what was so wrong with the place I grew up.   
  
There was a communal gasp and suddenly every child was waving a hand in the air.   
  
I looked like them. I talked like them. I had no barcode or fur or gills. I was strong, everyone knew, and faster than they could ever dream of being. I could scale buildings before I knew how to walk and I thought nothing strange of having my mother give Justin a pistol to ward off reporters when we went for a walk near the perimeter fence. But by the two words of my birthplace I was instantly more separated from the Ordinary children than I could ever have dreamed to be.  
  
* * *   
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Not me. So don't sue. 


	6. Chapter Five: Deception Is A Weapon

Fast forward a few years to find me, aged eleven, standing before a newsstand with Justin and Steel. As usual, we were skipping school.   
  
As was expected for children with our bloodline, we were phenomenally intelligent and could have skipped about four grades apiece. None of us were interested in applying ourselves however, and spent an average of two to three days absent from school, roaming the streets.   
  
We'd recently moved back into Seattle from the City. Mom was fighting to hold down a job to keep us clothed and fed, and the schools we attended had given up trying to contact her about our absences.   
  
The sector police could be a shambles, which explained Justin only getting caught shoplifting the one time. Steel could barely make it through one full schoolday, the way she was ridiculed. Dutifully, Justin and I hunted down her tormentors in the streets when we went to get the evening newssheets (like a cheap, post-Pulse version of a newspaper) and beat them up.   
  
"We'd better head home," I said, checking my watch. It was an hour fast and tight on my wrist.   
  
Mom rarely caught us coming home too early or late by accident, as she worked two jobs- a day job and a night job. By day, she taught martial arts to schoolchildren. By night, she was a waitress.   
  
It began to rain as we walked home. I stopped in the middle of the street and took a deep breath. I could smell the rain catching in my hair and dinners cooking in the homes of the Ordinaries. I watched my half-brother and younger sister walk down the street ahead of me. I smiled.   
  
"Keep up, Free!" called Steel.   
  
I ran to follow.   
  
We made our way back to our newest apartment. Our living conditions had steadily improved since I was eight. Our new home was trendy and messy. We ate takeout a lot of the time- it was my turn to go and get the food.   
  
"I need money though," I said as the rain increased.   
  
"Mom's got some," said Steel, tuning the radio on the kitchen table. We'd given up on television entirely and now relied exclusively on the radio for entertainment.   
  
I searched Mom's room. I ransacked her various cardboard boxes and finally easily tipped over her low cot. I'd never had to go through her whole room to find money before.   
  
A box. This must be where she kept her money...   
  
Or not. Amazed, I pulled a few guns and pistols, a loop of barbed wire, some knives, some explosives and nylon ropes from the depths of the box. I also found a green notebook. A Manticore mugshot of a younger Dad was taped inside the front cover. All down the front page were words written in a script I recognised as my mother's... neater than a typed font and strict.   
  
DECEPTION, it said. DECEPTION IS A WEAPON. SURPRISE. SURPRISE IS A TACTICAL ADVANTAGE. THE ENEMY OF THE ENEMY IS MY FRIEND. Over and over, it went over about ten pages.   
  
"Damn, Mom..." I whispered.   
  
Ceremonially, I put the weapons and notebook back into the box before spotting my mother's wallet on the floor nearby. I wished I had seen it earlier. This glimpse into Mom's mind had frightened me. I'd always known what she was capable of, but had been brought up with a strong sense of family. Everyone was my family. Why did my mom have all these weapons? Did she want to hurt others? Did she want to hurt us? Did she want to hurt herself?  
  
These thoughts plagued me as I went to get our dinner. We sat, the three of us, my hair wet, Justin's eyes older than those of most adults, Steel soft and trusting. We ate in silence. Sad music from our favourite radio station pulsed through us.   
  
For the next few days I was almost afraid of our mother. She was tough, unemotional, full of pride and power. Her mouth was a grim line of determination and she acted exactly as she always did. I could almost see the words she'd written flashing in her blue eyes, the eyes of the murdered Eva. DECEPTION. DECEPTION IS A WEAPON.   
  
Was she deceiving us?  
  
I came home early to get my jacket on another of my days of skipping school with Steel and Justin. It was windy. I entered the house silently and heard Mom talking with someone in the kitchen.   
  
I froze. Mom was never home at that time of day. I could have just snatched my jacket off the nearest armchair and ran from the place, but I stood and listened.   
  
"So what was the name you said you'd given yourself?" asked Mom.   
  
"Mike Samwise."  
  
"I thought you were all for blending in? I'm surprised you were even able to get a job with a name like that." I could practically feel her raise her eyebrows.   
  
"I heard it somewhere and liked it," said the male voice. "So how is our kid?"  
  
My mouth dropped open.   
  
"His name's Justin. Splint gave him his name."  
  
"I'm sorry about your husband. I saw you on the TV."  
  
My mom sighed loudly. "Just about everyone in the world did."  
  
There was a pause.   
  
"You realise I'm not letting you near Justin."  
  
"Why? I just wanted to see him... and you. See what I'm leaving behind."  
  
Mom sighed again, but impatiently. "This isn't Manticore and you're not my breeding partner and Justin is not your son any more than Steel and Free are your daughters. They had a father. He's gone."  
  
"But-"  
  
"I know it's been hard for you. But you can't just show up, tell him you're his father and then disappear to die in hospital. It'd destroy him."  
  
He sighed. "How old is he now, exactly?"  
  
"Thirteen. Mike, Manticore's OVER. It's been over for over a decade. You were my breeding partner, but I didn't ever love you. That's why I think you should leave, now."  
  
"Can I stay here a little while? My bus doesn't come for a half hour."  
  
My mom huffed. "Well, there you go then. You were gonna introduce yourself as his dad and then hop on a bus?"  
  
"The clinic's expecting me, Kara. I'm going to die, you know. Might as well be in a cold, white, sterile room instead of a gutter or a basement."  
  
"Those are your only choices?" asked Mom.   
  
"Your hair's gotten really long. It was only, what, chin length last time I saw you?"  
  
Mom laughs cynically. "Well, it was pretty hard to run through the forest with my hair in my face. And, remind me, when was the last time you saw me?"  
  
"Kara, don't make me say it. I'm still ashamed."  
  
"Night of the burning of Manticore. They'd kept me overnight in the infirmary for a pregnancy test- that little bleep on the ultrasound turned out to be Justin, dontcha know?"  
  
Silence.   
  
"And the place was burning, and two other females and me were trapped in there. We couldn't open the door and you ran past us and what did you do, Mike?"  
  
His voice was low. Mom always had that effect on people. "I left you behind. Kara, I was with the young X8s. Almost every one of the X9 anomalies in the basement died that night, Kara, I was going to go down there and get a few out-"  
  
"I thought we were going to die. And then the most unlikely hero came along and saved us three insignificant breeding females. You know who that was?"  
  
He made a very catlike growl.   
  
"My husband Splint. He broke open the door just as I was trying to smash open the screen." She giggled softly. "I fell on him. That kind of thing was always happening to Splint. He helped me and Justin out of there, as well as the other pregnant females. One was having twins, as I recall, identical twins. Do you know how many lives that means he saved? Mine, Justin's, one breeding female and her unborn child and another breeding female with two kids on the way. Seven."  
  
I thought about Mom accidentally falling on Dad and nearly giggled.   
  
Mom continued. "I thought he was his X5 twin, the one of my group, the one without a name. I yelled his designation, the twin, asked him why the hell he got us out. That wasn't the mission, as I recalled. And he yelled back his own designation, but I couldn't hear him over the roar of the fire. He was helping the three of us down the hall. And so for the first time since the '09 escape he used his baby name, Splint, and he yelled that to me, 'No, I'm Splint!' He gave us three boosts through a window and I was last. I said then, 'Are you going to give us up to the superiors, soldier?' He said to me, he said... 'I wouldn't dream of it, the new X5 generation is so important to us all. They need to get out of here; WE need to get them out of here. Just you get your kid as far away from here as possible.' He helped me through and I ran off after the other breeding females. I thought about what he said and I didn't look back. He'd freed me."  
  
Mom sounded choked up. "For months I travelled around the country, shedding my military ways and weighed down by the baby I was carrying. I thought... I thought of giving Justin up for adoption, so he wouldn't have an X5 for a mother. But I remembered the X5 who'd said his name was Splint and I decided it wasn't worth another ruined childhood on Manticore's terms... what was it you did with the X8s, Mike? Gave them up?"  
  
"It was what I was told to do," said Mike softly. "I regretted it. They probably shot those kids."  
  
"Exactly. And I want Justin to have the kind of guy who'd help three pregnant women, none of them his breeding partner and one of them who fell on him, for a father. I want him to be able to hear his name and say, 'That's my dad.' OK?"  
  
I shivered.   
  
Mike coughed. "I'll miss you. At least I know now you got out and our kid is OK. You're still tough."  
  
"And you're still a soldier-boy ass," said Mom fondly. "Mike, you know that Good Place they say that Ben Blueman was always talking about?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You're headed there. And when you get there, find Splint and tell him we miss him."  
  
I darted behind a chair. I think somehow Mom sensed me there as she ushered Mike out of the house, and I couldn't keep away as she went back to the kitchen. I ran and hugged her.   
  
"Mom, you're the greatest," I said tearfully.   
  
She knew what I was talking about. She didn't tell me off for anything, only hugged me and whispered in my ear, "Don't tell your brother."  
  
I know that throughout the States, even before the fall of the City, there were families that were not families, created in a place that didn't know the meaning of the word. The young X-series had had to figure that one out for themselves.   
  
And now I don't call Justin a half-brother in general conversation or even in the works I write. He's just my big brother of two years. These looks into my mom's mind taught me for sure at a young age that it is not necessarily where we come from that's the issue in transgenic families. It's what we grow to be.   
  
* * *   
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Not me. So don't sue.   
  
NOTE: The song that was playing on the kids' favourite radio station (which happens to be Pre-Pulse Top Thirty Hits) was 'Family Portrait' by Pink. Check it out because it is AWESOME. Parts of it inspired this chapter. 


	7. Chapter Six: My Sweet Sister

Music from the band pulses over a small crowd of transgenic teenagers and I've rarely been this happy, this... cool, as they've always said on the Outside. I'm thirteen and sitting on a giant pile of crates with some other transgenic girls of my age. We are celebrating the fifth anniversary of our legal freedom in the city of Seattle.   
  
This was the very place where Steel and I watched our Aunt Amna box on Christmas Night when we were little girls. Everyone knew deep down that Seattle wasn't going to stand for much more transgenic sentimentality. Everyone's parents had insisted we have the day off school- the week in some cases. There'd been countless transgenics ringing radio stations asking for battle songs and anthems to freedom played in honour of the momentous day. Transgenics walked the streets singing the praises of the X5 heroes- Max, Zack, even the long-dead Eva. I'd smiled at that last one. I always felt a strange closeness to Eva... nobody had ever been able to shake my belief that it was her ghost that saved us in the riot.   
  
Now, Seattle was at the end of its tether with our Teen Transgenic Block Party. Everyone could stay up all night- all week if we wanted. Music was pumping from every direction and keeping the citizens awake. We knew we were trying their patience but we of the freak nation, the former City residents, we seized any chance to celebrate. We were not religious; the older transgenics didn't have birthdays... an anniversary for everyone was just what we wanted.   
  
I frowned as some men and women in uniform shoved through the crowd of dancing transgenics. I could tell they were scared. Even from far away I sensed them quaking in our presence and smelled their fear. There was a veritable army of sector police.   
  
"We will have to ask you to end this unauthorised party! You are purposely harassing the nearby Seattle residents and they won't stand for it!" yelled an officer into a bullhorn.   
  
Eyes, animal and human and luminous under crumpled paper lanterns strung above us and numerous bonfires (we were always suckers for a good bonfire) glared.   
  
Steel, who was nearby dancing with a human-looking transgenic boy, scowled. "What's up with you crashing our party?" she yelled. "This party is for transgenics ONLY!"  
  
There were yells of agreement. The square was filled with young adults who were children when they escaped Manticore and second-generation X-series- basically all the teen transgenics of Seattle.   
  
I felt so proud of Steel, who had always been so shy and unassuming and downtrodden... more so since Dad died. I was glad she'd made a friend, the transgenic boy seemed to be making her laugh. She'd been giggling at almost everything he said to her.   
  
The sector police were being jostled about. There was a commotion nearby the band as some police tried to take them into custody.   
  
The crowd gave a collective roar and sprang into battle.   
  
"Come on!" I heard Steel call to her friend, laughing. "I love a good fight!" She grabbed his hand and dragged him right into the action.   
  
We all loved a good fight. I cheered them on from my perch up on the crates and wondered idly why Steel's little boyfriend had looked so hesitant to join in.   
  
The police ended up being thrown out of the city. Our party spilled out into the surrounding streets. I knew we'd been bad in a way that Manticore never would have stood for. We hadn't followed orders, we hadn't been silent and respectful- and I loved it. It felt like we were more than Manticore, more than our parents, more than our faces.   
  
And as the sun came up Justin, Steel and I danced alone down the street to the current apartment block to the tunes that had gotten stuck in our heads since the night before. We laughed at jokes only we could ever understand and related childhood anecdotes only transgenics could ever share. Justin was fifteen and had a black eye from the fight, which he proudly called his 'red badge of courage' and pointed out to the two of us every few minutes.   
  
My big brother and little sister were still my best friends. I knew other transgenic kids and they were my friends, and I was civil to the other kids in the apartment block, but they knew I could kick their asses all the way to snowy Canada if they messed with me. But I'd always gotten on quite well with the two of them and the death of our father had united us like the first-generation X5s of the past. A unit. A squadron. A family.   
  
Mom had been having her own fun all night. She'd been to parties, bars and spent an hour in a club even though it hurt her head like anything what with her hearing. She was making breakfast for us and even consenting to cutting our school lunches. We whined and complained about being sent off to school, not that we were tired, oh no. I whined because I wanted to hang onto this wonderful feeling all day, all my life if I could.   
  
"What did you kids do at the party?" she asked, cutting the crusts off Steel's meat sandwich.   
  
"I got this!" said Justin, pointing at his 'red badge'. Steel and I groaned and shoved him.   
  
"Steel got in a fight. She kicked ass, didn't you, Steel?" I volunteered, swirling a finger through the margarine and then trying to dip it in the sugar. Mom slapped at my hand and gave me a warning look.   
  
"I also met a boy. He was nice," Steel said modestly.   
  
Justin and I laughed uproariously. "You did more than that! You pulled the best-looking transgenic boy there! Too bad he's only a baby," I said, giggling.   
  
"Twelve is not a baby," said Steel, scowling at our good-natured teasing. "He's only a few months shy of turning thirteen anyhow."  
  
"Maybe you should give him a call, Free," kidded Justin.  
  
And that was all that was said for a long time about Steel's little boyfriend, as I called him. There were grumbles over the months about transgenics from the Seattle residents as we got into riots, scared schoolchildren with our twisted, furry brethren leaping from sewer drains and laughing at their screams, complained constantly about the lack of tolerance on their part.   
  
I turned fourteen and Steel was suddenly thirteen, unbelievable as she'd always been so YOUNG. She was the child who'd loved cars and stories and making things and fixing things and was always honest and true. Now she was all those things but better and older. Justin and I got impatient with her for being slow but somewhere behind those eyes, the dark of our father Splint, she was taking in more than we realised.   
  
One night, the moment Mom walked through the door Steel ambushed her with stealth and speed Manticore would have been proud of. "Mom, I'd like to bring a friend over for the evening tomorrow night. Is that OK with you?"  
  
"Well, if you want... I can't remember the last time any of you brought a guest over here."  
  
I came out of the bathroom with my hair wrapped in a towel and a toothbrush dangling from my hand. "You can't do sparring matches in our living room, Mom. We break things."  
  
Mom rolled her eyes. "Many dedicated transgenics fought and slaved since childhood so that you could grow up in peace and you want to do sparring when your friends come over?"  
  
"Can we send out for pizza?" asked Steel excitedly. "Or Chinese food? Those are our favourites. And- and-"  
  
I hadn't seen Steel this hyper in years. "She's not getting both, I hope?" I asked, eyebrows raised. "She's getting spoiled, Mom. Remember a time when our Christmas presents consisted wholly of a pair of shoes apiece?"  
  
"It's not that much more even now," said Mom fairly. "Steel, either pizza or Chinese but not both, OK? I have to go and take off my makeup."   
  
Steel immediately ran onto the street to the payphone to call her friend.   
  
The next evening, I was lying on my stomach doing my Biology homework when Steel came through the door followed by her friend. Seeing as Steel was so enthusiastic about this particular guest I was determined to make a good impression. I jumped to my feet and gasped, laughing. "Hey, I remember you!" I said in amazement.   
  
Steel said, "OK, uh, Free, this is my friend Deon. Deon, this is my older sister, Free."  
  
"Yeah, you're the one who was with Steel at the party last year," I said, walking around him in a circle, taking in every angle. "I definitely remember you."  
  
"Uh, hey," he said nervously.   
  
"So what series are your parents? X5 like ours?" I enquired.   
  
Deon coughed and stared at the floor. I didn't get it. The last time I'd seen him he'd been talking constantly, Steel had been laughing at everything he'd said. Maybe he just clicked with her more than others.   
  
"Deon, why don't you go get some water and look around the kitchen?" asked Steel meaningfully. He shrugged slightly and walked into the kitchen.   
  
"Er, nice guy-" I began, but Steel turned to me forcefully.   
  
"Don't say a word," she hissed. "Listen, Free, there's one thing about Deon that isn't... um... ideal."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Well, for one thing, don't ask him what series his parents are or what part of the City he lived in."  
  
"How come?"  
  
Steel smiled grimly. "Free, Deon's not a transgenic. He's an Ordinary."  
  
I froze.   
  
"Free? Say something."  
  
"You traitor."  
  
"That wasn't exactly what I had in mind," joked Steel.   
  
"You have an Ordinary boyfriend?" I demanded.   
  
Steel frowned. "He's not my boyfriend." She suddenly grinned. "Not exactly."  
  
I decided to save those arguments for later. "If he's not a transgenic then what was he doing at the block party?"   
  
"Deon and some of his friends sneaked into the City to see what transgenic kids do at parties. Then we got talking and he decided to stay for awhile and talk to me instead of going back out with his friends. He's really fun to talk to, Free-"  
  
"Don't you remember what they used to DO to us?" I snarled.   
  
"Oh, don't," countered Steel. "'There is no I in team', 'Mission', 'Duty'- what is so wrong with me having an Ordinary friend over? It's not like I'm going to marry him or something!"  
  
"Steel, you are being completely-"  
  
"Free, there is more than one way to be a transgenic. Rather than making things hard for them, can't we try to put it behind us?"  
  
This was the girl who'd stood with me while my brother and his friends shouted at reporters beyond the boundary fence. I remembered how little we'd been and the feeling of her hand in mine. I'd protected her.   
  
I blinked. "They KILLED our dad, Steel!" I hissed. "You're a transgenic. Even your name is transgenic! Steel Xavier, remember? Xavier for 'X-series'? For the little baby made out of steel? REMEMBER?"  
  
Steel looked at me coolly. "I remember. And I'm proud of where I come from. But right now I'm going to go and hang out with Deon- not 'cause he's an Ordinary or I'm second-generation X5. 'Cause he's my friend." Steel turned on her heel and marched into the kitchen.   
  
I couldn't do my homework now. All I thought about was my little sister, my sweet, naive little sister... being corrupted by some Ordinary.   
  
Justin came through the door. He was barely inside when I jumped him. "There is an ORDINARY in the house," I hissed, using tones most girls use when talking about intruders or at the worst, cockroaches.   
  
"So what? You can take 'em, can't you?" asked Justin perplexedly.   
  
I rolled my eyes and said, "Yeah, but it's a friend of Steel! She's fraternising with the enemy!"  
  
Justin raised his eyebrows. "Well, I don't understand that. Every Ordinary in the district is scared to death of us."  
  
"No, Justin, every Ordinary in the district is scared to death of you and me. Steel wouldn't hurt a fly."  
  
Justin contemplated this. "Girl or boy?"  
  
"Boy. Name's- Deon." I pronounced it like a loathsome swearword.   
  
"Well, did she bring him home voluntarily?"  
  
Why was he asking these dumb questions? He was usually so quick.   
  
"Yes, but-"  
  
"Aw, c'mon, Free. Give her a break," he said easily. "I talk with Ordinaries all the time."  
  
I felt my jaw drop as Justin sauntered into the kitchen. Everyone was a traitor.   
  
Over the next few days it seemed like my two best friends had deserted me. It hit me just how much time I spent with Steel, because now she seemed to spend all that time with her new friend Deon. I realised that Justin had his own friends, many of whom seemed to be Ordinaries. I cried myself to sleep at night.   
  
I stood sullenly in line for food with a coupon and an ID card in my hand a week later. Steel and Deon stood behind me- as usual; he was making her laugh. I wished more than anything I could have her back. I could have killed Deon for taking my sister from me.   
  
I needed to talk to someone. Anyone. The unity of Terminal City was dead.   
  
"Free, we're next," I heard her say.   
  
I scowled at her. "You're a big girl," I told her venomously. "You do it." I shoved our ration cards and ID into her hands and ran off.   
  
I found myself in a part of Seattle unknown to me. I climbed up the tallest housing block I could find.   
  
Sadly, I gazed out into the greyed city, the graffiti covering walls blurring with my tears.   
  
"Hey- I sleep here!" demanded someone. A skinny young woman with dyed hair scrambled onto the roof. She stopped, bewildered, when she saw I was crying. "Are you all right?"  
  
"You don't want to talk to me," I said sadly. "I'm second-generation Manticore transgenic. X5."  
  
She cocked her head to the side. "Yes, and I'm German-Swiss-Polish-American, but you don't see me crying about it."  
  
"I don't want to cry. I was taught not to cry. I can't cry. I mustn't cry."  
  
"Well, that's pretty stupid."  
  
"I'm crying because everyone seems to be betraying me and I didn't even know it. My brother and sister are fraternising with Ordinaries behind my back. They're my best friends."  
  
The young woman sat down next to me. "I get it. You're one of those transgenics who hold a grudge against us. And you're upset and scared because your friends are getting over it faster than you, and for you, forgiving us isn't an option."  
  
"But- I feel so bad. My little sister has an Ordinary for a boyfriend, and I don't know what sort of stuff he's putting into her mind. She's forgotten... they used to tease her so much at school that she couldn't get through a whole day, she just couldn't. My big brother and I, we'd beat up the kids who bullied her so bad that they wouldn't look at her cross-eyed. And she thanked us and it was good, it was OK because we were protecting her. What's happened to her?"  
  
The woman asked, "So you hate the non-transgenics full stop?"   
  
"I don't hate people because of what their parents are. That's not what I was taught." I began to cry again. "I hate them because of what they did to us. They shot my dad. They killed the X5 heroes- Tinga Smith, my mom's twin, Eva. One of them tried to kill me and my brother and sister. We were little, unarmed kids. What did he want with us? We didn't even know how to fight or kill. We're more than Manticore."  
  
She bit at her lip. Awkwardly, she patted my arm.   
  
"And... and I know this sounds crazy and stupid and weak but my mom, she's got weapons at home, guns, and I was thinking of, you know... ending everything. Taking the easy way out."  
  
She breathed out. "My parents were killed when the Pulse came. I didn't have any brothers or sisters. I grew up in a Children's Home. I didn't get much schooling- I sleep up here at nights. Tell me about your dad."  
  
"My dad's name was Splint because he was accident-prone. He was a bit of a fool, he was allergic to practically everything, he was always tripping over his own feet or accidentally having his gun go off and shooting someone in the back of the leg. But he was a hero. He was a really good dad. He was weak sometimes, scared, but everyone always expected him to fail. And he died defending the City against the Ordinaries."  
  
She whistled. "Cool."  
  
I glared at her.   
  
"Don't freak out. I meant it must've been cool to have such a brave dad. Listen, kid, I have one thing to say to you."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"It's not always going to be this way. And kid- Manticore gave you transgenics one good thing. They made you fighters. You've got the knowhow and the spirit to get as far as you want and when you get there, you'll be the greatest kinds of human beings. No matter what you look like or what you can do."  
  
I nodded. "I'll think about that."  
  
She looked at me curiously. "Do you have a barcode and shit like that?"  
  
"Nope. Those went out with first-generation X-series." I giggled, realising that for the first time in a week I'd made a joke. "I have to get home."  
  
"Bye," I heard her call as I left.   
  
I walked into my home and heard someone clear their throat behind me as I stood still, catching my breath.   
  
"Free?"  
  
"Hey, Steel. Where's Deon?"  
  
She walked to stand with me. "He went home. He doesn't LIVE here, you know."  
  
"So..." I took a deep breath. "Want to do sparring in the living room? I'll kick your ass, show you how a real fighter wins."  
  
"We'll break stuff."  
  
"That's the fun part!" I insisted, and Steel giggled.   
  
"I'm glad you're here."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Uh-huh. You're my soul sista."  
  
I raised my eyebrows. "And where did you get that?"  
  
"Deon's big sister Gemma said it to me. Think it's corny or somethin'?"  
  
"No. It's just right. Soul sista. I like that, my sista. Now, let's go kick ass," I said.   
  
"Then we can listen to the radio. Pre-Pulse Top Thirty comes on in half an hour."  
  
I groaned. "I stayed out that long? Well, we'll have to kick ass quickly, then."  
  
"Yeah. Best of three?" She linked as arm through mine.   
  
I thought about my sweet little sister Steel's best three- Justin, Deon and me. And right then, I felt like the best of those three.   
  
"Absolutely," I said, and we went to go have fun.   
  
* * *   
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Not me. So don't sue. 


	8. Chapter Seven: Broken Heart

Justin slipped a packet of potato chips inside his jacket, eyeing up the shelves of the store. He was shoplifting again.   
  
I rolled my eyes. "Jus-tin, you're gonna get us thrown out. Stop it."  
  
"I was going to get you a present but now... I don't think I will," he hissed at me.   
  
My eyes gleamed catlike. "I'm always up for presents. What did you have in mind?"  
  
"Chocolate."  
  
"One bigger."  
  
"A CD?"  
  
"You're getting warm." I picked up a bag of hair clips and examined them. I was fifteen and liked to play with my hair- I teased it and put it up in interesting knots. I'd even hacked Steel's waist-length river of beautiful hair into a much 'cooler', scruffy bob that I'd seen in a pre-Pulse magazine. She liked it, but Mom had had a fit.  
  
"You want hair clips? You could take this stuff yourself, you know. Why do I have to get in trouble?"  
  
"I have a clean record and I'd like to keep it that way," I said, replacing the tacky clips. "'Sides, I don't want hair clips, these ones suck. How about a-"  
  
"You two! Just what do you think you're doing?" cried a woman at the counter. I turned around fearfully. She stormed over to us and I gave Justin an apologetic look before pouncing on him.   
  
"Hey, you punk kid!" I barked in military tones, attracting stares from other customers. "What d'you think you were doing, huh, shoplifting?"   
  
Making fists, I began pummelling him like I'd seen boxers do on television. He shoved me. I threw him to the floor. Justin threw me an absolutely venomous look.   
  
"Sorry, man!" he moaned, rubbing at his neck. "I just- I just-"  
  
"You come back here, kid, you'll have me to deal with, aiight? Beat it!"  
  
Justin jumped to his feet and ran off. I feigned unhappiness.   
  
"Oh, ma'am, I'm so sorry, I didn't get your stock back..."  
  
She stared at me thoughtfully. "You fight well. What's your name?"  
  
Twenty minutes later I swanned out of there smiling. Justin ran to catch up with me from an alley where he'd been waiting for me.   
  
"What the hell was that for?" he moaned. "'Cause Free, I hate to admit it but that shit you pulled on me HURT."  
  
"Better I beat you up and you run off with your chips than we both get in deep trouble. Besides... I got a job."  
  
Justin raised his eyebrows. "A job? You? Doing what?"  
  
"I'm a security guard. I take out shoplifters. They've been having a problem with that lately."   
  
Justin laughed. "That'd be my friends. Wait... you're a SECURITY GUARD? You?"  
  
"What?" I asked, annoyed.   
  
"It's just... you're a fifteen-year-old girl. My kid sister."  
  
"And you're a seventeen-year-old guy who just had his ass kicked by his kid sister, Justin. I make just enough money per shift to get some new clothes in the week. Cool, huh?"  
  
Things were relatively normal in the Xavier household. Steel had been inconspicuously dating Deon on and off since the year before. I came into the kitchen to find the two of them playing Bottlecap Chess on the counter.   
  
"Who's winning?" I asked, pulling up a chair.   
  
"She is," said Deon, his eyes desperately roving the board. The chessboard was originally part of a Cornflakes packet that Justin had carefully ruled lines across and coloured in black squares. He'd then sat Steel and I down, taught us to play, and the three of us had been AWOL from school in a three-day Battle Royale of Bottlecap Chess. Game after game after game.   
  
Since we didn't have proper pieces, there were blue bottlecaps pitted against red bottlecaps. Since all of a player's pieces looked exactly the same, we'd used to carve letters into them to help us remember- P for Pawn, K for Knight, etc. Now, as we were older, we decided we were too mature for visual aids and challenged ourselves into remembering which piece was which.   
  
"That I am," smiled Steel. "Checkmate."  
  
"WHAT?" asked Deon. "You cheated. You checked my knight, Steel."  
  
"No, I got your knight before. See? Over there. I got your king, Deon. Don't lie." She gave him an innocent smile.   
  
"I have to go, Steel. See you. It was a good game... for you."  
  
He grabbed his jacket and left. Hmmph. That was the advantage of having a transgenic boyfriend over an Ordinary one, I told her. I mean, sure he was cute and funny, but how many Ordinaries can remember ALL the pieces in a game of Bottlecap Chess?  
  
"Very funny," said Steel sarcastically, getting us both a drink of water.   
  
"I guess I shouldn't criticise. Good date?"  
  
"Excellent. We broke up again, but what are you gonna do?"  
  
"Well, what happened BEFORE you broke up? Again."  
  
"I tried teaching him sparring, but he's too slow. So we talked about music, went to the park downtown, visited his dad at work and came back here to play Bottlecap Chess."  
  
I sipped water. "When exactly did he break up with you?"  
  
"When we'd finished talking about music. And I broke up with HIM."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Baseball's coming on TV soon. What time he won't be spending watching will be spent talking with his friends about the games."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
I started at my job. Many didn't recognise me as a transgenic and scoffed at the idea of a petite, innocent-looking schoolgirl being a security guard. I leaned against the wall rolling three pieces of bubble gum around my mouth with my tongue.   
  
A boy looked furtively around him and reached down to grab something off a shelf, to add it to the collection already growing inside his jacket.   
  
I cracked my gum so loudly that he jumped. "Don't even think about it. Unless, of course, you consider girls who tie you in a knot and dump you down a storm drain alluring."  
  
He gave my white t-shirt, which I'd written SECURITY on in marker pen, an unimpressed look. "You're transgenic?"  
  
"We're not here to discuss my heritage. Fork out twelve dollars and I'll forget giving you a cranium crack."  
  
The boy stood up. I saw a flash of silver in his mouth- a tongue piercing. Ooh. Scary.   
  
"Got a barcode?" He reached to turn me around and look at the back of my neck, but I blocked his hand easily.   
  
"Get out."  
  
Saturdays were my day off. I went into the City to meet up with my friends- other transgenic girls. The youngest ones were about Steel's age, the oldest had graduated from high school already. The plan was to sit around for a few hours gambling and gossipping. Nobody could stop us- this was our sanctuary.   
  
"I'm starting to despise shoplifters," I said, during sparring with a second-generation mixed series girl named Aya. Her father was X5; her mother was one of the oldest X6s. She was the oldest out of five children, and the only girl. This meant she experienced some weird side effects due to the mixing of classes- dog, cat and human DNA splicing. She seemed to communicate on a higher level with her dog, which followed her everywhere.   
  
I liked Aya a lot. I was hoping that she might consider letting me be her best friend.   
  
We were casually chatting with each other and with the other assembled girls. One was showing off her stitches from a car accident the week before, another had rigged up a punching bag and was letting her anger out on it. Steel was there, and had brought our Bottlecap Chessboard with her. She was running a Masterclass for five bucks a lesson and was making a killing.   
  
Her fist flew out. I caught it and got her in a hold from behind. "How come?"  
  
"They're all such bastards."  
  
"You didn't say that," called Steel, "when Justin got you those boots for your birthday, Free!"  
  
Aya bit my arms, which were choking her. I yelped and let go, so she elbowed me in the stomach and smashed one of her killer heels into my ankle. "You're scary, Free Xavier," she giggled, watching me check my wounds.   
  
"Hey, Nina!" I called to a doggish sixteen-year-old in the corner. She looked up from a physics book she was reading. Nina wanted to go to college and get a degree, so while we goofed off, she studied. She was more like a babysitter than anything. "Aya's teeth drew blood. I need a bandage- stat!"  
  
Nina tossed me a box of Band-Aids and went back to her reading.   
  
"She sure is scary. Explains why her little sister has a boyfriend and she doesn't," said someone nastily.   
  
I gave her the Glare, a look that was mine and mine alone. I only ever used it to shut people up. Do I really scare people, I thought. Damn...   
  
Sunday, and I'm back at work wearing my SECURITY shirt and reading a magazine. I look up from my magazine to find a boy about Justin's age staring at me.   
  
"Can I help you?"  
  
"I saw you the other day beating up that guy. You're a transgenic, aren't you?"  
  
Good God, I thought.   
  
"No talking with the security guards, kid. Move."  
  
"Nah, I just thought..." He turned around and pulled down the collar of his jacket, revealing a barcode. "I'm one of you."  
  
"You're not transgenic," I observed coolly. "You're too young to be X-series, and you can't be anomaly either 'cause you look human to me."  
  
Not to mention pretty hot, admired a voice in my head that I automatically hushed. Security guards did not flirt with customers.  
  
"I'm second-generation X5. Breeding programme. I'm guessing you are too. You look old enough."  
  
"My parents were happily married for two years by the time I was born, thank you. What's with the barcode?"  
  
"I got it to show respect."  
  
I had to say, I was impressed. "Who are your parents? Maybe they were in my mom's unit."  
  
"Tyson and Lesa Locke- 600 and 657."  
  
"Zack Thompson and Tinga Smith's X5 twins? Those are famous faces. My mom is Eva Guevara's twin."  
  
He came to stand beside me at the doorway. "You know, I never understood why they gave the Eva kid Max Guevara's surname in news articles and shit. I've seen Manticore mugshots in those same articles, and she doesn't look like a Guevara."  
  
"Do any of her family? 'Spect they gave her the name to make her more of a family member. Lots of her group took the surname Guevara so people would know who they were."  
  
"True." He looked at me. "You know, I'd like to talk Manticore some more with you. You free tonight?"  
  
No way! God... who says I can't get a boyfriend? I thought in delight.   
  
"Where do you plan on going?"  
  
"The waterfront."  
  
"Sure... yeah. I'm free. Well. That's my name. Free Xavier. What's yours?"  
  
"Damon Locke."  
  
We looked at each other for a second. "So, are you gonna BUY anything? 'Cause if you aren't, get out."  
  
"Bye, Free."  
  
He said my NAME, I thought. Wow.   
  
"See you," I said. I think I am in love, I thought.  
  
By Tuesday it was all through the Terminal City teen grapevine that Free Xavier had a boyfriend. After her little sister, but a boyfriend nonetheless.   
  
Damon was a bit too cool, even for me. I wondered about him... but he seemed as smitten as I was with him. I spurned sparring with Aya or Steel to ink his initials up my arm.   
  
In this newest apartment, Steel and I shared a room. She watched me from her bed admiring a whole row of DL love token tattoos. "You're going to give yourself blood poisoning if you keep doing that."  
  
"That's just a myth. Besides, for the first time ever your scary big sister has a boyfriend and YOU don't," I gloated.   
  
"As of tonight that will be an ugly rumour. Baseball is over, and Deon and I are gonna go watch a screening of this pre-Pulse movie and its sequels to celebrate."  
  
"What movie?"  
  
"I've never heard of it, but Deon loves it. It's called 'Men In Slacks' one through four or something."  
  
"'Men In Black', I think."  
  
"Yeah, whatever."  
  
On my lunch break the next day I went looking for Damon, who said he'd wait around the corner for me.   
  
There he was. I ducked into a doorway. I heard him and his friends. I heard the word Free and melted.   
  
I love him, I thought, and listened.  
  
"... this raid's gonna be a piece of cake, right, Damon?"  
  
"Yeah, I told you a million times, man," said Damon in annoyance. "The security guard's a fifteen-year-old chick."  
  
"Yeah, but transgenic. She'll kick our asses," said a boy who had just arrived.   
  
Damon laughed. "Listen, and listen good. This is the best time of my life for the following reasons- one, tomorrow, I'll have a share in a couple of hundred dollars from that store. Two, the security guard is too into me to try and stop me and Three, I'm dating her on the side."  
  
I crept back into the store feeling awful. "Um, I think I'm gonna need to take a personal day," I muttered to my boss, Brenda.   
  
"Something wrong, Xavier? Hate to see you off duty early, you're my best security guard."  
  
"Brenda, I'm the only security guard," I corrected her. "I really don't feel so good."  
  
"OK. Leave through the back, though, I don't want people to see that this place is unguarded."  
  
I nodded dejectedly and slunk through the back door.   
  
I lay around at home for a few hours until Steel came in singing some rap song with an enraptured look on her face. She saw me watching her sullenly and stopped in mid-giggle.   
  
"Is there something wrong?" she asked.   
  
I considered this. I felt so cheap and betrayed I didn't know where to begin.   
  
I readied myself. "I'm expecting a raid on the store tomorrow. I'm gunna need backup and someone to get it for me while I do some recon."  
  
Steel seemed to understand instantly. "Got your back," she said, and went to phone our friends.  
  
The next day, I was quietly fuming as I rallied Justin, Aya, Nina, Justin's friend Lewis and Steel inside the store.   
  
"This is how it's going to work," I told them. "We come in from the sides and throw them onto the sidewalk. The one with the barcode on his neck- let ME deal with him."  
  
Everyone knew I had a bone to pick with Damon Locke. They didn't question my request.   
  
And yet... I was hoping this was some kind of misunderstanding.  
  
It happened so fast it felt like a blur. "Everyone down on the floor!" yelled Damon to customers queuing to pay for groceries. A gunshot was fired into the ceiling.   
  
I stiffened and closed my eyes suddenly. A gun. Guns were bad. Guns killed my dad and my mom's twin. Guns kill a lot of us.   
  
My mind whirled.  
  
And a gentle, insistent, childlike voice spoke in my mind. This voice was not my own.   
  
Help your friends, Free.   
  
I shot forward to help the others, who had gone before me. Lewis wrenched a handgun with T. LOCKE engraved on the handle from Damon's hand and threw it to Steel, who began to back them up toward Justin, Aya and Nina, who put sleeper holds on three boys. They collapsed to the floor.   
  
I marched over to Damon and stood in front of him. He tried to hit out at me but I caught his fist easily.   
  
"Damon, it's been really nice fawning over you. Don't call me and I'm definitely not calling you."  
  
I punched him between the eyes. Dazed, he fell back onto Nina, who hastily dropped him on the floor.   
  
We hung around until the police arrived with two people I knew must be Damon's parents. A beautiful but harassed-looking woman shot ahead of the officers easily and shook Damon, snapping at him. He shoved her away and went with them.   
  
She stood there a second looking weary. A tall man with blonde hair came and put his arm around her, and they climbed into a squad car.   
  
That was the last time I ever saw Damon Locke. I heard through the Terminal City teen transgenic grapevine that he was in a detention centre- that being the latest in a string of offences.   
  
I've talked with Mom about his parents, Tyson and Lesa. She knew them only by designations, but she knew them all right, having shared quarters with them until she was twelve and also having a private room between the two of them.   
  
"Oh, I idolised 657 right up until I left Manticore," she reminisced that night. "I thought she was the strongest, best, most beautiful X5 I'd ever known. I would have done anything to be like her. Everyone knew that she and 600 were involved since they were teenagers. I used to always hear them sneaking into each other's rooms late at night." She laughed.   
  
So where did they go wrong with Damon?  
  
Even now, I feel pangs of a twisted affection for Damon. They are far and few. But I'm Free Xavier, I told myself. I'm scary and I'm single and I don't let anyone push me around.   
  
* * *   
  
NOTE: Wow. *GOGGLES AT SELF* That was obsolete crap. This fic just seems to be deteriorating further... and further... into puke-inducing oblivion. I want to finish it! *WAILS* I like these original characters more than any of my original characters and I want to know what happens to them! My brain isn't keen on giving me the goss, but I'm going to try my militant hardest to finish this fic!  
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron, and 'Men In Black' belongs to some movie studio. Not me. So don't sue. 


	9. Chapter Eight: The Future, The Past

When I turned seventeen, there were a few brief spurts of transgenic media interest, particularly in the area of publications. Most of the books were of little interest to me- one, an awful thesis by some Professor of Transgenic Relations, explored the various 'groups' of transgenics. There were 'true' transgenics (anomalies and Special Ops) and 'false' transgenics (X-series and human-looking Special Ops).   
  
Then there were several sub-groups, but in particular I remember the author's mention of second-generation transgenics. Apparently I was 'blood-contaminated' from simply being born. Aya, being a second-generation mixed series, was worse off. He might as well have been a tabloid writer- in fact, he probably was.   
  
A book I liked was a short biography written by some guy named Case M. Smith from Canada. He was half-Ordinary, half-X5... his mother had died when he was five. His book was well researched. He'd tracked down some of his mother's fellow X5s and even some of the Manticore technicians and doctors. Although Steel and I laughed at the dedication ('For my mother, the transgenic queen'), by the time we were five pages in I realised it wasn't meant to be funny. It was a heartfelt piece of writing and remains one of my favourite books even today.   
  
There were some OK compilations as well- there aren't many former City residents I know with the patience to write an entire book by themselves. But largely they sucked. So it was with annoyance that I set out to write an essay for my English class on my family and their history, and with indignation that I stood up to read it out.   
  
I went to an Ordinary high school still, and there had been a small number of second-generation transgenics to join the alumni. Like me, they had no interest in learning.   
  
It was a miracle I graduated at all. I was naturally intelligent, but I had a fair few gaps in my knowledge, which I didn't care to fill.  
  
I cleared my throat. "My essay's name is-"  
  
"Title, Miss Xavier. It's called a title," my English teacher Mr Rockwell interrupted.   
  
Rolling my eyes, I started over. "My essay's title is 'My Family: An Essay by Free Xavier, Aged Seventeen, For My Third-Period English Class.'"  
  
There were sniggers even from the other second-generation transgenics. I glared at them and continued.   
  
"For seventeen years family has come to mean a whole lot of different things. When I was little and lived in Terminal City, I was taught to think of everyone as family. Our parents had all come outta the same test tube, after all. But seriously, what is a family? I looked it up in the dictionary- 'Noun meaning a set of relatives, especially parents and children.' That's not very specific. Then again, the dictionary rarely is."  
  
I paused. Mr Rockwell raised his eyebrows. "Is that your whole essay, Miss Xavier?"  
  
"No, sir." I closed my eyes and went on. "If the transgenics of the City could rewrite the dictionary- or at least, if I could- the definition would probably say 'Noun meaning a set of individuals bound by their history, their unity and their love for each other and in particular by their deep admiration of the other family members.' For my family are heroes. Not all of them look human. Not all of them are saints. But they are wonderful people who I both tolerate and can't live without."  
  
The room had gone quiet.   
  
"My family are, at the very least, my mom Kara Xavier, my deceased dad Splint Xavier, my older brother Justin Xavier and my younger sister Steel Xavier. Then there are the hordes of extended family- aunts in spirit, uncles in arms, pseudocousins and then the ones I can't even assign a label. Some I have never met but have a respect and awe for that overcomes the boundaries of life and death- like my mother's identical twin, Eva Guevara, one of the X5 heroes who died when she was only nine so that her family could live. She, along with my mom, is one of my role models. I only wish that I could have met her."  
  
I read off the paper and even though I considered this whole English essay thing to be an utter bore, my voice couldn't help but adopt a soft and reverent tone.  
  
"My family is many things to many people. Monsters. Martyrs. Men and women of honour. But to me my family of anomalies, Special Ops and X-series is as natural and good as anything an Ordinary could boast. They are magnificent. They are mine."  
  
I sat down and folded my hands in my lap, listening with uncharacteristic politeness to the other essays. As the bell rang, Mr Rockwell asked me to stay behind.   
  
Some of the girls nudged me and grinned- they were Mr Rockwell's little fan club. I sighed at their childish antics- I thought he was pathetic.  
  
"Miss Xavier, what do you plan to do with your life?" he asked as soon as we were alone. "Do you want to go to college?"  
  
I raised my eyebrows. He was asking a girl wearing deep black eyeliner, henna tattoos and a ripped Ozomatli t-shirt who had hardly been in his class two weeks over the entire year if she wanted to go to college? Honestly. What did he THINK I wanted to do with my life?  
  
"No, I'm not planning on college. I'm going to keep my job as a security guard. The pay is OK, and... yeah. Can I go now, sir?"  
  
He gave me a long look. "Did you write that essay, Miss Xavier?"  
  
"'Course I did."  
  
"You must know you have a talent for writing-"  
  
I gazed at him blankly.  
  
"- or not. Hasn't anyone ever told you that you're good at this?"  
  
I shook my head. "No, sir."  
  
"I think you should consider writing as a career, Miss Xavier."  
  
"Can't, sir. Writing stories doesn't pay the bills. It was most likely a fluke anyhow; I get Cs in English."  
  
"Have you ever taken any writing workshops, Miss Xavier? Had any tutoring?"  
  
"Like I said, I get Cs. What's the point?"  
  
"You and your talent may someday have a formidable impact on the writing world. Free, I'd like you to do something for me."  
  
"Extra homework?" I whined.   
  
"Just a little. I'd like you to write something for me."  
  
"OK," I sighed. "What, exactly? Poetry, prose...?"  
  
"Just anything you want. And I'd like it within the week."  
  
"You're torturing me, Mr Rockwell."  
  
"Such is the life of an English teacher. You may leave now, Free."  
  
I slouched around at home that evening. Justin sauntered into the kitchen and gaped at me. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I'm usually home about this time, aren't I?"  
  
"Yeah, but... you're doing homework. You're not even listening to the radio. Pre-Pulse Top Thirty is on! You never miss Pre-Pulse Top Thirty!"  
  
"Well, tonight I do. Mr Rockwell gave me extra homework."  
  
He groaned loudly and sat down at the table with me. "Please, Free. Don't tell me you've become one of the for-life members of the I Heart Mr Rockwell Club."  
  
"Nah. He's pathetic. I hate him."  
  
Justin shrugged. I tried to start another essay, failed, crumpled up that attempt and crammed it into a full wastebasket.  
  
Another attempt. Another.   
  
"It WAS a fluke!" I snapped venomously. I couldn't take it. That bastard had tried to delude me I had some kind of... talent, some kind of thing I could do that wasn't inherited from my parents' genetic code.  
  
"What was?" It was Mom this time, yawning and stretching like a house cat as she came into the kitchen. She gave me an odd look. "Why isn't the radio on?"  
  
"I need to concentrate."  
  
"Why, what are you doing?"  
  
"Homework."  
  
"No, really, what are you doing?"  
  
"IS IT SO HARD FOR ANYONE IN THIS FAMILY TO BELIEVE I MIGHT WANT TO BETTER MYSELF AND FURTHER MY EDUCATION?" I screamed at her, and buried my head dejectedly in my arms.  
  
I heard her come and sit beside me. "What's wrong, Free?"  
  
"Do you think," I asked, more to the tabletop than to her, "that transgenics can do things that don't rely on their looks or their muscles, and be really good at them?"  
  
"Why not?" replied Mom. "They've told me my twin loved music when she was a little child. She could have grown up to be some kind of musical prodigy. Wouldn't have been too extraordinary given her genes but... your dad said to me, he said, 'Kara, your sister loved music. It wasn't just her talent. It was her favourite thing in the world.'"  
  
I frowned. "Where the hell did Eva Guevara learn what music was?"  
  
"You know, nobody really knows. It's a complete mystery. But the fact is, she knew more about music that any of the X5 class at the time. She WANTED to know about it, how it was accomplished. Why, why did you want to know?"  
  
"I have to write this crappy essay thing for Mr Rockwell."  
  
"Don't swear, Free. What about?"  
  
"Anything."  
  
"Well, what do you know about?"  
  
"Transgenics. I'm good at writing about transgenics."  
  
"Fine, then. Write about transgenics. And put some music on, hearing silence in the kitchen is scaring your brother and myself, not to mention the neighbours."  
  
She tuned the radio to the Pre-Pulse Top Thirty. "... and that was Air with 'Playground Love'. Now is a classic track by The Offspring. It's 'Amazed' and it's on the Pre-Pulse Top Thirty," said the DJ.   
  
I, like many transgenics including my hero, Eva, enjoy music. Every time I listen to a song in my mom's home, wherever it may be at any one time, I always feel like whatever singer it is sings only to me, empowering me with their words.  
  
A man began to sing on the radio. "Sometimes I think I'm gonna drown 'cause everyone around's so hollow. I'm alone. Sometimes I think I'm going down but no one makes a sound. They follow and I'm alone."  
  
I imagine that's what Eva felt like as a small child, sitting in the dark, all alone and listening to a guard's radio, learning lessons of life and love from these... people, these role models and surrogate parents who gave her only their songs.   
  
I wrote, listening to the music as it filled me.   
  
Here is what I read aloud to Mr Rockwell when I gave him the paper.   
  
THE FALL  
AN ESSAY BY FREE XAVIER, AGED SEVENTEEN  
  
I am not seventeen and a woman. I am eight years old. I am a child.  
I am not capable of defending myself. I am strong and scared and I want my mommy to take care of me and tell me that everything will be all right.  
But my mommy is a good woman and doesn't ever lie to me.  
There is a riot outside. My brother and sister are all I have.  
I don't know where my parents are.  
There is noise, and screams from outside. Why are there screams?  
I remember times when I literally got my hand caught in the cookie jar.  
Grabbing morsels left over from dinner the night before.  
Mom would yell at me because food was scarce, and I'd yell out to her what I'm thinking now.  
"What did I do that was wrong? Why do I deserve this?"  
  
We're running. A lot happens. There are murders of people who will never be people, and I see a woman who's supposed to be a girl, who isn't alive, who rescues me from danger.  
It's a blur until after the end. When I see my father's body in the street.  
And I silently beg my big brother not to call out to him. It will make it real.  
Justin yells out to his dad, my dad, our dad who is lying on the ground, and I know we'll never be a family again.   
"DAD!"  
  
And my face is all over the country, and it makes them ashamed. I lie in my bed and cry, holding my little sister in my arms like she's my baby and not my sibling.  
Dad, where are you?  
You're not a soldier any more. You're a dad. Our dad. You didn't have to fight.  
Nobody was making you fight.  
Dad, come back. Mom isn't crying and it makes me scared. They used to hit her if she cried.  
Come back, tell her nobody's gonna hit her any more.   
Steel is crying again. She's woken up. She cries what I want to cry too.   
"Dad, come back. You're not dead. You're not dead."  
  
And suddenly I'm seventeen. I am a woman. I can defend myself.  
I'm smart, I know it, and I have a job. I buy my own things.   
But I still shake and cry in my bed at night, wondering what went wrong.  
Dad... every time I lie on my bed, tired after walking home, I press my face into my pillow and try to stop breathing.  
Trying to get where you are.  
I don't really want to leave Mom and Steel and Justin, like you did.  
I just want you to hug me one last time.  
  
I read this to Mr Rockwell after class. He was silent as I finished. "I'll thank you for not making me read this to the class," I mumbled to my feet.  
  
"It's... good, Free, very good. It's all true, hmm?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Mmm."  
  
"What was your dad's name?"  
  
"Splint. I'll thank you not to laugh. I think it's a pretty good name. I'm naming my first son Splint. I'm naming my daughters Kara, Eva and Steel, in that order. If I have another son I'm naming him Justin- if it's a girl Justine."  
  
"After family?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I wasn't going to laugh at your father's name, Free."  
  
"I know. I guess I'd have to forgive you. A six-year-old made it up. But it's great. Do you want me to do any more extra homework, sir?"  
  
"No, Free. The rest of this is up to you."  
  
That night I drummed my fingers on the tabletop as Steel sauntered in. "Gonna be Justin's birthday soon."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I think I'll make him some shelves."  
  
"He has shelves."  
  
"I'll make him some more shelves. What about you?"  
  
"I dunno."  
  
"I'll leave you to your thoughts. I need a screwdriver, I'm gonna call Deon- see if he has one."  
  
"You do that," I replied, and watched my sister leave.  
  
A quiet voice drifted from the radio. I turned it up. "The chills that you spill down my back keep me filled with satisfaction when we're done, satisfaction of what's to come. I couldn't ask for another," I sang along. "No, I couldn't ask for another."  
  
Hesitantly, I picked up a piece of paper and a pen off the kitchen counter and started to scribble. "This is a story," I read aloud quietly from the paper as Deee-Lite played in the background, "dedicated to my older brother Justin in honour of his nineteenth birthday, with love from your younger sister Free Xavier..."  
  
* * *   
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. 'Groove Is In The Heart' belongs to Deee-Lite and 'Amazed' belongs to The Offspring. Not me. So don't sue.   
  
NOTE: I'd like to extend a big thank you to Hearns at this point for sending me the review that helped me get off my arse and finish what I had started of this chapter. Although it isn't exactly what you asked for, Hearns, I hope that you enjoyed it.   
  
Oh, and everyone? I have an online journal up. If you're interested, which you're most likely not, it's under the section for a personal link on my profile. Laters, all! 


	10. Chapter Nine: A Bleak and Happy Day

I'd questioned describing myself as a woman in 'The Fall', my essay for Mr Rockwell. I often wished there was some sort of time in a person's life where they were told, "You're grown up now." and that was that. I FELT like a child. Every time I acquired something that was supposed to make me feel like an adult... it didn't.  
  
I had a job. I'd turned eighteen years old, had a couple of boyfriends (no major relationships) and I'd finished school. Yet none of this made me feel as if my childhood was over. I was at heart a little girl in a woman's body.  
  
And yet something was coming that I was counting on to end my childhood once and for all. It was the tenth anniversary of the fall of Terminal City. Ten years since Dad and Cora and many of my neighbours and friends had died. The anniversary of all the deaths was not something the former population liked to remember- it was more the day we became official American citizens and were allowed to see the Outside that was remembered. But it was ten years gone. They needed to be honoured.  
  
A part of the City was cleaned up especially for the day, which was cold and windy that year. Transgenics flocked from all sides of the USA and beyond, even if they had never set foot in the City.   
  
"It's been ten years. It's been far too long," whistled Justin, watching cars of transgenic families pull up through the City gates as we perched on the roof of our old house. X-series, anomalies and Special Ops anxiously waited, rushing to embrace long-lost family as they climbed out of their vehicles.   
  
For the sake of the day, we had temporarily moved back into the City, into the last home we'd had. Steel and I were even sleeping in our old room, which had brought back wonderful memories.   
  
"Yeah, I know," I replied. "A decade ago we were skinny kids who'd never seen a toaster or crossed an Outside street. Now we're adults."   
  
There was a banging noise as Steel climbed through a window to reach us. "Riiiight, we're so much maturer now," she giggled. "Hey, Justin, watch your back!"  
  
We looked around to see that she'd ripped a broken shingle from the roof and was preparing to throw it at our brother. He yelped as she purposely flung it to miss him and almost fell over laughing. "Steel!" he barked. "That wasn't funny!"  
  
"Well, we know which one of us has the wit and finesse of a seven-year-old," I said, pulling Steel down to sit with us. In a rather childlike way, she leaned her head on my shoulder and smiled as a car of X7s appeared along with two X6s.  
  
"Names?" we heard someone yell as they hurried over with a clipboard.   
  
"The X7s are Khia, Sean, Billy, Damien and Indra and we're Fixit and Zero," said the male X6.  
  
"I thought you were coming with two more X6s and an X8?" enquired the anomaly with the clipboard.   
  
"Ralph, Bullet and Bugler stopped in town, they'll be here soon," said the female.   
  
Justin sighed and got up. "Nobody really important's arrived yet," he said. "I'm gonna watch tomorrow."  
  
"Two days 'til celebrations begin. Mom's group probably hasn't even arrived yet," I agreed. We'd been sent out to watch for any of Mom's X5 siblings and their families arriving.   
  
Although there were many happy reunions taking place outside on the street, Mom had become rather subdued. She did not speak of our dad, instead fuelling all of her energy into finding family she had not seen in many, many years. I found her sitting at a new kitchen table (someone had chopped our old one up for firewood) perusing a familiar-looking notebook.   
  
"Whatcha doin' Mom?" I asked flippantly, gazing at the notebook.  
  
"I've managed to track down the names of some of my group- mostly the twins of the X5 heroes."  
  
"Which ones?" I asked, sitting down with her.   
  
"600, 799, 211, 702, 472, 206, 657 and 735. I don't know how many got out in the fire. I hope they all did."  
  
I didn't know what to say. I imagined going almost twenty years without knowing where your family was. I would have gone insane.  
  
That night I lay on a new camp bed in the same room I'd lived in as a child. Just as I began to drift off to sleep (having not slept in four days) Steel's voice came out of the darkness.   
  
"Free?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Where is Dad buried?"  
  
I froze. Now that I thought about it, I had no idea what had been done with my father's body. A friend of my mother's had led us away after I'd scared the reporter out of the City. There hadn't been a funeral.   
  
I remember eavesdropping behind a door as my mom's friend, a lady named Sophie Nichols (we called her Sophie or Aunt Sophie) who'd gone missing after the opening of the gates talked quietly with Mom. It was a couple of days after the riot.   
  
'So when is the funeral, Kara?'  
  
My mom's voice was thick, as if she'd buried her face in her pillow. Thinking of it, she probably had. 'You know as well as anyone that transgenics don't have funerals. I mean, did we ever get to say goodbye to our group when they died?'  
  
'That was then, this is now. Your kids need to say goodbye to Splint. Seeing his body in the street is hardly going to contribute to their development as well-adjusted, happy people.'  
  
One thing about Sophie was that she was mostly quiet. But when she needed to, she never minced words.   
  
'I don't think they could handle it, Soph.'  
  
Aunt Sophie had given a rather feline growl of exasperation. 'What you mean is YOU can't handle it.'  
  
'I was always so...'  
  
'Mean?' suggested Sophie. Behind the door, I'd winced.   
  
'Yeah! Mean. I was always really mean to him. It astonishes me that the kids had the tiniest bit of respect for him. They'd stand there laughing while I yelled at him.'  
  
'Well, what was it that you'd tell your kids two seconds after he'd left the room, as soon as you'd caught your breath?'  
  
I could hear Mom begin to cry. I really wanted to run in there and hug her, but I couldn't. I wanted to hear her say it.   
  
'I'd tell 'em, "Your dad is a wonderful man and he loves all three of you very, very much. He does his best all the time, but sometimes I have to keep him in line. It doesn't mean he's bad, because he's not." But-'  
  
'What?'  
  
I'd dreaded what she'd say next.  
  
'It's impossible!'  
  
I let out a breath. She hadn't been about to speak badly of my dad.  
  
There was a silence. 'Did you love him?'  
  
'Pardon?'  
  
'I asked you if you loved him?'  
  
Mom removed her face from the pillow. 'Of course I did! All he ever did was be nice to me. All he ever did was try to be positive about things. And I was just a bitch to him, all the time.'  
  
'Then why won't you end it on good terms and say goodbye?'  
  
'Because I didn't want it to end.'  
  
'Try, Kara, OK? Think about it.'  
  
'Sure. All right. Yeah.'  
  
We didn't end up having a funeral. Mom was out of bed in a few days, charging around the house. She didn't say another word on the subject, at least not to me. I didn't like to cry in front of my mother. She always made me feel weird, staring in shock. I guess she still couldn't get used to the idea of children being able to cry in front of adults.  
  
"Free?" asked Steel. I was pulled out of my reverie. "Are you awake?"  
  
"Yeah. I... I don't know where Dad is buried."  
  
"You don't?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I was just thinking... 'cause maybe you guys went to the funeral and thought I was too young and sensitive to go? You could've gone while I was asleep, I used to sleep a lot after Dad went. So are you sure Mom didn't just say not to tell me?"  
  
This was making me feel worse. I turned to the wall.   
  
"Steel?"  
  
"Uh-huh?"  
  
"Shut up."  
  
There was a pause. Steel replied meekly, "Sorry, sis."  
  
The next morning I sat in the kitchen drinking hot chocolate. In a fit of nostalgia I'd made myself the Terminal City equivalent of hot chocolate- hot water and chocolate powder. We'd only got the stuff on special occasions, and then only if we were good. It kind of grew on you if you tried to overlook the fact that there wasn't any milk.  
  
Celebrations would begin in the late afternoon and end at about noon the next day. The COs of each group would say a few words, and then would be a party. I questioned having a party, everyone knowing full well that it was the anniversary of a very sad day. Justin had looked at me as if I were an idiot.  
  
"It's supposed to be a celebration of their lives, Free. Today every year transgenics mope around their houses, go out, get drunk- that's gonna change this year."  
  
It was a nice idea, I thought. A bit too much of a change of pace for me. The Anniversary of the Riot each year was spent hiding out at home brooding. I'd even seen the footage of our family crying over Dad's body one year on the television and put my foot through the screen. A party? Weird!  
  
Mom had gone out early with Steel to see if they could find any of our old neighbours, or any of the X5s from her group. Justin had gone down the street to see if anyone had any milk. "Put me off hot chocolate forever, having to drink that stupid making-do shit," he said scornfully, heading out the door.  
  
A knock at the door. I went to answer it and found a woman in her late twenties standing there. An X8, I thought immediately, judging from the age.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Someone told me the Xavier family still lives here," said the woman. She still stood like a soldier, her arms in the 'at ease' position. She saw me staring and promptly snapped into a normal sort of stance, clearly embarrassed.  
  
"Well, no. We're just staying here for the weekend. Who are you?"  
  
"Scott Reddoch."  
  
I sniggered.  
  
"OK, yes, ha ha. Enough of the laughter. I KNOW it's primarily a boy's name. Are your parents in, Free?"  
  
I blinked. "How do you know my name?"  
  
She cocked her head to the side. A small smile twitched the side of her mouth. "You don't remember me, do you?"  
  
"Haven't a clue who you are, if that's what you mean."  
  
"You probably wouldn't. Kara and Splint used to help me and my family out sometimes. We could manage ourselves without any trouble a little after you were born, so no, I don't s'pose you would remember me."  
  
"Your family?" I didn't know how many X8s there were in the City. It had to be a lot. Still, a great many hadn't made it. Some had died in the fire, a few were captured afterwards, others were hit by cars, starved to death... Out of all the escapees from the fire, the X8s probably had the least experience about living on the Outside.  
  
"Just the five of us. Three boys, a younger girl and me."  
  
"Um..." I sort of remembered some X8s stopping by every now and again when I was very small. The visits stopped entirely by the time Steel was born.   
  
"Well, I don't suppose I can really blame you. Are your mom and dad in?"  
  
"Mom's gone with my sister to see if any of her group have arrived yet-"  
  
There was a banging noise of the back screen door opening and closing. "And they haven't!" called Mom. "But we did find a friend of mine."  
  
She came to the door. "Who's the visitor, Free?"  
  
Scott grinned. "Don't tell me you don't remember me either, Mrs Xavier."  
  
Mom laughed. She moved forward as if to hug her, but seemed to think better of it and extended a hand. "Scott. God, you've grown up. Come in."  
  
At the kitchen table sat another X8, much younger than our first visitor. Her hair was black and curly and she was talking with Steel, who was fishing cups out of one of our boxes. She seemed to be of Indian descent, and knew Scott, waving to her as we came back in.   
  
"I TOLD you they'd be at the gates, Scott!"  
  
"We found Trisha for you," said Mom dryly.  
  
"Well, we can't stay," said Scott in a bossy manner. "I e-mailed Seth and Harley last week, Trish. They're staying at X8 Central. Vince is coming later on." She sat down in the chair next to Trisha.  
  
I knew about X8 Central. It was an old office building where the surviving X8s had stayed as a group, wary of the older transgenics. It was quite a busy place, and you'd always spot them running in and out. They called it their X8 Central, and the name stuck. Only the leading X5s really dared to go inside. It was THEIR place.  
  
Trisha pouted. "I could use some water, Kara, ma'am. The car broke down in Washington and we had to push it the rest of the way."  
  
Mom obliged and poured Trisha some water from a bottle in the icebox. "Trisha, you're twenty-six years old. You don't have to call me ma'am."  
  
Trisha slurped water, protesting between gulps. "Least I'm not as bad as Scott. Nobody ever called you MRS XAVIER 'cept for her."  
  
As they stood up to go, Steel said, "Can I come too? I always wondered what was inside X8 Central that made it so damn impenetrable."  
  
Scott and Trisha exchanged looks. "I guess. The place will be a sty after ten years."  
  
The two women picked up suitcases that Trisha had flung onto the back step. Mildly interested, I tagged along too.  
  
True, X8 Central was a wreck. Various former residents were striding around inside, throwing trash through the broken upstairs windows. Three of the women were huddled on the front steps smoking cigarettes. Scott and Trisha nodded to them in recognition.   
  
The inside was dark and gloomy. Trisha charged inside and high-fived another X8 who was lighting candles in the darker corners. About five X8s had hung wind chimes in the front doorway. It was so weird to see the transgenics most of the older series referred to as 'those punk kids' helping their children unpack, smoking rats out of the kitchen area and blaring rock music from the front room with nobody turning a hair. They had been the ones who taught us martial arts moves, boosted us through the windows when we got locked out of the house, sorted us into fair teams for war games... they were our allies, a bunch of overgrown kids. Now they were grown-up.  
  
Like us.  
  
Then Trish yelled out. "Seth!" She was furiously hugging one of the men. Eyes shining, she stood back so Scott could greet him.  
  
Scott coughed. "Good to see you, Seth." She extended a hand.  
  
Trisha snorted. "God, Scott, will you ever change?" She gave her a shove so she ended up hugging him too.  
  
"Come and help me unpack, you two," said Trisha. "I know where I'm sleeping."  
  
An ancient piece of cardboard had been nailed over the door of an old file room that the X8s had turned into the kitchen. "You're sleeping in the kitchen?" I asked in confusion.  
  
"My old haunt," she nodded. Her eyes widened in indignation as she entered. There were two young teenagers standing guiltily in the ashy room.   
  
"Oh, dear," muttered Steel.  
  
"MORONS," she yelled. My sister and I jumped. "FUCKING morons. Go destroy your parents' rooms!"  
  
"We were smoking out the rats!" protested one. Her older brother nodded vociferously.  
  
"Get out!" she barked.  
  
So somehow the two of us were roped into scrubbing the place. I asked why she was doing this, or even wanting to sleep in the same place when she'd be leaving in a couple of days. "Respect," was her only answer.  
  
"See, the thing I don't get," Steel said suddenly as if we'd just been having a conversation, "is how the riot started. I don't really remember. I mean, I was only seven."  
  
"Steel, shut up," I ordered.  
  
She ignored me. "You wouldn't remember either, Free. You were at home 'cause it was your turn with the comic book."  
  
Silence.   
  
"You remember the comic book, dontcha? That mouldy one from 2022 that kinda belonged to all the kids in the neighbourhood. Like, Cora would have it for a month, then Aya, then all of her brothers (in age order), then Nina, then Lewis, then someone else, then their brother, then their sister, then you, then-"  
  
"I get it, Steel."  
  
Steel continued, "I just remember playing Field Hospital with one of Aya's little brothers and this second-gen Psy-Ops named Cami and then there was yelling and screaming. I went and sat on the stoop into Aunt Sophie's house and just watched when all this fighting spilled into the street. I was kind of annoyed 'cause they were filling up the street and we couldn't play Field Hospital properly. But then Mom came with you and Justin and Dad saying we had to hide."  
  
"Steel, sh-"  
  
"You can't remember?" asked Trisha from the steps, where she was trying to clean ash out of a knothole in the doorway. "I do."  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"I was sixteen years old at the time, you know. And I'm only twenty-six now. Somehow I don't think my memory's started to go yet," she said waspishly.  
  
"Tell us!" said Steel, crawling over to her. I went to scrub near the opposite door. Somehow I wasn't sure I wanted to hear this.  
  
"One of my sisters, Rannie, she got the full story from an X5 who heard it from an X4 who heard it from the brother of the X6 who started it. You see, one of the houses was in deep trouble. Starving. They were too full of pride, forbade anyone outside the house to know. The fastest girl, an X6 named Immi, sneaked out of the City to find food. She stole someone's ration card, took out money and bought provisions. She kept doing it, unknown to anyone but her friends. She started to get very good at it- but too confident. She was caught and identified. They killed her."  
  
A pause. "Then what?"  
  
"Her friends didn't know what happened to her. Finally, her boyfriend got out and found out she wasn't coming back. He went back with the news. He was numb, Rannie told me. Crushed. So he just snapped. He broke out again, and killed some sector police. People came after him. But the entrance Immi had found and showed him was blocked. He didn't have any way in. The small gate- you know, for motorcycles and that- was unmanned. He tried to get over the main gates, but the few people had turned into a mob. They broke down the gates and before long it turned into a riot. He was the first one they got."  
  
I suddenly asked, leaning against the doorframe. "W-What did they do to him?"  
  
"Stabbed him to death. Here-" (Trisha gestured to her chest) "- and here-" (She motioned toward her navel) "- and here." (She pointed over her shoulder to her lower back)  
  
Steel and I winced.  
  
"X8 Central had a lot of casualties. They nearly hung my brother Vincent."  
  
I raised my eyebrows. "Nearly?"  
  
"From a low beam in here. We came back because Rannie and Uther remembered we had grenades in here. We found him hanging from the ceiling. Rannie was the first one to walk in. She started screaming like she'd seen a werewolf or something. She couldn't stand up, she fell onto the floor and was screaming and covering her eyes. We have to be Manticore's biggest failures, the X8s. What's the use of a soldier who can't stand the sight of a dead body?"  
  
We murmured something and let her continue.   
  
"I ran and cut him down while Uther tried to get her to stop screaming. And then he woke up. Vincent wasn't dead." Trisha blinked and I was astonished to see that she was crying. Crying, but laughing at the same time.  
  
"Are you OK?" asked Steel hesitantly.  
  
"Yeah, I'm- fine. I was so relieved. I slapped him senseless as soon as he was breathing and threw a fit." Trisha did a silly imitation of herself. "'Don't you ever, EVER scare me like that AGAIN!'"  
  
The two of us laughed.   
  
"So, where's your dad? I always liked him. He was a real nice guy. He let me hold your brother a coupla times, when Justin was a baby."  
  
The mirth petered out right then and there. Trisha suddenly realised.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"He's dead," said Steel unnecessarily.  
  
"You don't have to be sorry," I put in. "It's not like we're special or anything."  
  
"Mmm," said Trisha.  
  
It was nearing about five-thirty in the afternoon when I stuck my head around the bathroom door to yell for another bucket of water only to find Justin, smirking slightly and brandishing one under my nose. "Just like old times, huh?" he teased. "How many buckets does that make it now? Eleven?"  
  
"I counted thirteen," said Steel offhandedly, striding past us half in and half out of a new shirt. None of us three was really overly shy about our bodies. When we'd lived in the City all the time we often had to share a bath- first a bucket when we were babies, then a tin bath when we inevitably outgrew the bucket. Often two of us would be sitting on chairs, chatting amiably with the one in the bath. The tin bath had been my most ingenious hiding-place when our mom would shoo us away from her card games with Aunt Sophie and a couple more aunts whose faces are blurred now in my mind's eye. "Go and play Hide and Seek!" she'd say, because that was one of the few games she vaguely knew that kids found entertaining, having never played any games herself. I'd overturn it and hide underneath until I began to get too big. The sight of a tin bath hovering over the kitchen floorboards is definitely a suspicious one.   
  
Steel and I had filled it with blankets and coats on a few occasions, luxuriating in the sunbeam under the window and telling ghost stories that were somehow marvellously spooky even in the light of a summer morning.   
  
Once the bottom floor, where Dad and Mom had moved from Dad's original second-floor living space when baby Justin had taken a header down the stairs, got flooded. Justin and I sneaked downstairs and played boats with the bath, one of us sitting on the staircase while the other rowed the boat-bath up and down the hall with a shovel. When Dad, who'd climbed out of a window to go and get supplies, forgot himself and opened the front door he got the shock of his life when not only a waist-high wall of water, but his adopted son in the bathtub hit him. He'd broken both his knees and been ploughed over by the hapless preteen. That was the first and last time we ever played Boats.  
  
But most of all, being subconsciously taught the dangers of being fanciful, we used the bath for what it was s'posed to be. We took baths together until Justin, then me and finally Steel had become paranoid about being seen naked.  
  
"Kids, hurry up!" Mom bellowed. When she wanted to, Mom could make her voice sound like a car alarm- booming. I hurriedly snatched up a towel and dried off, hurriedly changing into my equivalent of 'sensible' clothes- a black shirt I'd once been able to wear as a dress, black boots with square toes and black tights. This had been cause for great mirth, according to Justin. He'd promptly collapsed into a fit of laughter. "You look like you're going to a funeral!"  
  
I'd exchanged a tense look with Steel, who was changing her shirt yet again in the background, and while hunting for something to add colour to the outfit had briefly wondered what I could have worn to Dad's funeral... if he'd had one. I didn't have anything particularly funeral-worthy in my cardboard box of clothes that I shared with both my sibs.   
  
Even today I wonder where my dad's body came to be...  
  
We came to the square. A valiant attempt had been made to clean it up, but transgenics are more proficient in the area of bringing things crashing down rather than maintaining them. One thing we have maintained, though, is our military roots. I had brought a marker pen along and was doodling on my arm in my usual don't-give-a-damn way, but stopped when the COs of each class and the leaders of the anomalies marched to the head of the assembly.  
  
I was slightly surprised to spot Scott Reddoch standing between the X7 and X9 (a more animal-like series and the last before the X10s, which would have been the official codename for the products of the Manticore breeding programme). Although I have thought of my parents' first home as many things- my own personal Hell, for instance- I had never thought of it as sexist. Yet plainly I saw that Scott was one of about two female COs.  
  
Aunt Sophie and her daughter Astri were sitting on cardboard boxes. I saw what looked like Trisha and Seth sitting on a low brick wall with two other male X8s. Steel's eyes widened and she tugged on my arm as she saw an X2- a twisted, scarred monster with its teeth protruding scarily over its lip, ropes of spit dangling from a gaping mouth. We couldn't tell whether it was male of female. It was on the arm of a nervous-looking X10.  
  
The Terminal City flag was raised. Unwilling to be grouped again, many had insisted the flag was stupid, but a majority (who preferred anonymity to avoid bodily harm) had voted to gather in the square and stand in the shadow of the great flag like they had so very long ago.  
  
An X8 shyly stepped out of the shadows when everyone was said to be there. He raised a bugle to his lips-  
  
And in the long shadows, 'Taps' began to play.  
  
Granted, it was no picture. There were still the ones sniffling or scratching or staring blankly ahead. 'Taps', a tune I'd heard Dad hum in the mornings, had a botched note or two. A few of the women burst into tears (noisily or otherwise depended on their personal level of self-control) and some of the males coughed and wiped their eyes.  
  
But I was still proud to stand there again.  
  
I snapped out of the mood almost instantaneously. I giggled as Justin mouthed THE SERVICE IS ENDED. GO IN PEACE. as we were dismissed. I tried to wave at Trisha as she, Seth and the other two men (presumedly Vincent and Harley) set off to find Scott, one with his arm protectively around her shoulders. I began humming an old Missy Elliot song in appreciation as a good-looking second-generation X5 boy sauntered past with his younger brothers, making Steel smirk. And I was happy to get to the all-night party. Justin was right- this DID make a nice change from staying home and brooding.  
  
Mom was happy. She sussed out where Aunt Sophie was almost right away, and the two of them stalked off together in their comforting, matey way.  
  
So Justin, Steel and I were left to our own devices. Almost like the old days. We spent the first few hours just wandering. "Let's go get dr- AUNT AMNA!" squealed Steel, throwing herself at our 'aunt'. Aunt Amna really had been like an aunty to us three, rather than like one of Mom or Dad's female friends.  
  
Aunt Amna replied, "Steel! And you two as well! Free, you look so... so..."  
  
"Ridiculous?" supplied Justin. I smacked him.  
  
Make that VERY MUCH like the old days.  
  
We joined our aunt's party in a somewhat unfamiliar street. She seemed to be the hostess, leading Steel (who always had been her favourite) in by the hand and announcing loudly that we were her brother's kids.  
  
"Dunno how he can have any more of them kids," commented an apelike anomaly. "He's got six already, hasn't he?"  
  
"Not THAT brother," said Amna impatiently. "My OTHER brother."  
  
Justin milled away to take part in an arm-wrestling competition that was just beginning, and a boy began to flirt with Steel, leaving me with my aunt.   
  
"Lay a hand on her and you'll have to deal with me!" called Aunt Amna after the boy, who nodded fearfully. She turned to me. "D'you know if you take this road and take every left turn you find you'll eventually end up at the main gates, Free? I was one of the ones trying to barricade the damn thing in the riot."  
  
My breath caught painfully in my chest. Music pumped from far off and the already drunk were singing along.   
  
"Who else was there?" I heard my voice asking.  
  
"Not many, actually. Your dad, and me, mostly anomalies and X7s. Had a Special Ops in there somewhere. I am-" (Here Amna swelled fitfully) "- the champion X5 female at martial arts. I could hold my own easily. Easily."  
  
"Aunt Amna?"  
  
"Yes, sweetie?"  
  
Sweetie. She called me that as easily as if I'd been six. I didn't detest it, exactly... but I wasn't six. I was eighteen.  
  
I had to know.  
  
"Tell me... how my dad went down."  
  
Her dark face, beautiful even then, clouded. "I can't tell you that."  
  
"I want to know," I said stubbornly.  
  
"It'd be cruel," she said, equally stubborn.  
  
"I'm from Manticore too, you know. Somehow. I can take it, aunt."  
  
There was a silence filled by empty sounds of pain deadened and pride wailed to the night.  
  
"You're right. God. You're absolutely right."  
  
I took a breath. "Tell me."  
  
"We were trying to alternate, all of us, between kicking the rioters out of the City and preventing more from coming in when the damage report came."  
  
Raising an eyebrow, I enquired, "Damage report?"  
  
"You know. Who was on the run, who'd been found, who was- dead. And it was this kid, can't remember her name, telling us. She said she'd seen your mom go down on the other side of the City and you three run off into the network of alleys."  
  
Dad. Oh, God no. I already had a mental image of what might have transpired.  
  
Dad, why?  
  
"He went white," continued Amna. "Splint mouthed your mom's name like it was a holy word that was gonna make all his dreams come true. He looked around wildly for a second and then he split. He left his post and became vulnerable, punching and kicking his way through the thick of the fight, sending even other transgenics flying. All he was thinking about was the four of you. All he wanted at that second was for you to be all right." She smiled weakly. "Guess he... he got his wish, huh?"  
  
I lowered my head. "What happened next?"  
  
"Kind of ungraceful, really," she murmured. "A gun went off and a bullet ricocheted off the sidewalk. Hit him square in the back. Free?"  
  
"Yeah?" I looked up reluctantly.  
  
"I had never seen anyone who loved his family like Splint did. In Manticore or out... what your dad lacked in coordination-" (we both smirked) "- he made up a million times with love."  
  
And so I thanked my aunt, and kissed her cheek in a very little-girly sort of way and sauntered off with as much dignity as I could muster. As soon as I'd located a conveniently dark corner I burst into tears.  
  
Justin and Steel have a sixth sense for when their siblings are depressed. They were at my side immediately.  
  
"Free?" Steel patted my arm. "Are you OK?"  
  
"D-Dad probably died thinking it was gonna be... OK, 'cause we'd be waiting for him- or thinking we were in danger! L-Like it was his fault or somethin'!" I wailed.  
  
This was not very coherent and Justin coughed. "Uh, have you been drinking, Freedom Xavier?"  
  
"Shut up, Justin," said Steel and I at the same time.  
  
I blubbed out the story. They were quiet.  
  
"It's too much for us here. Let's go somewhere. I think I know where Mom is," Justin said, and we headed off into the night.  
  
Fireworks rained over the stars and the party raged on. We ran across Mom playing, of all things, a game of cards with Aunt Sophie and two X5 women I'd never met before.  
  
"Your aunts," said Mom, beaming at the women.  
  
"MORE aunts?" asked Steel rudely. Mom gave her the Evil Eye, but Sophie and the two unfamiliar women burst into laughter.  
  
"X5 702," said a brown-eyed blonde, giving us the peace signal. "Alias Vi. Vi Te Ahi."  
  
"Weird," I commented, sniffling.  
  
"Thank you," she grinned.  
  
"And I'm Donna," volunteered the other aunt, who was also blonde, but with wide-set blue eyes and freckles. "Donna Keys."  
  
Vi elbowed her.  
  
"X5-211," Donna elaborated.  
  
Mom and Sophie excused themselves to go and get some drinks. Steel and I were left with the new aunts.  
  
"We old wives," said Vi, stretching out her legs on the steps where they sat, "have been made to tell the same dumb stories over and over again, you know.  
  
"Dumb?" asked Aunt Donna, the softer-spoken one, in a dangerous tone.   
  
"Oh, I can't complain. I'm finding it fun."  
  
Donna picked up where her X5 sister left off. "We're geniuses. Ask us anything."  
  
And I thought suddenly about the questions I'd had answered and the answers I'd never fully know. I had one more I'd never quite had the guts to ask.   
  
"What was our mom like when she was our age?"  
  
Aunt Vi blinked. "Your mom? Girls, she was... something else."  
  
"Entirely," put in Donna helpfully.  
  
"She was always the one who'd jump up, waving her arms and yelling our her ideas, no matter how stupid they were. But you could sort of tell something a bit more... deep was going on with her. She'd lead us into battle like she was Alexandra the Great or something. Yet it stands, girls, that your mom was generally the jokester. She was essentially the X5 nutcase."  
  
Donna gave her pseudosister a piercing look. "I think it was YOU, actually, who was the nutcase, Vi."  
  
"What was her best class?"  
  
"Battle Psychology," answered Aunt Donna. "Which was basically just the fancy name for getting in people's faces and figuring out how long it'd take for 'em to crack."  
  
"Kara used to scare me silly in that class."  
  
"Havin' fun?" asked Mom, whose face was alight with laughter as she returned with Aunt Sophie.  
  
I looked around. A party. My family- my FAMILY- were having a party on this date, in the middle of the night. There were lights in the sky and lights in my eyes and we'd all gotten together like a big family.  
  
There was only one answer that could be given.  
  
"Sure," I said offhandedly.  
  
I didn't sleep for three days. The party would peter out in the daytime, everyone would insist they were going home or taking naps or otherwise halting the reunion, but by sundown we'd be partying again. I went to bed fairly early on the third night, and staring at the ceiling chatted away to Steel.  
  
"... but, you know, Steel?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I never did feel that whole big transition dealio you're s'posed to get when you grow up. What's with that, huh?" I laughed shrilly into the silence.  
  
"It's painfully obvious, sis."  
  
"What is?"  
  
"The transitional dealio dilemma. The reason you never felt like you became an adult, Free- is..." (Here Steel yawned and I heard her turn over) "'Cause we've all had to start our growing up since Day One."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Shut up, Free."  
  
I smiled into the darkness. "You mind if I play my radio for a bit?"  
  
"Nope. 'Night."  
  
"'Night," I echoed, and reached down to the floor.  
  
Some guy was singing. And content with just the one station, I began to drift off.  
  
"A million old soldiers will fade away but a dream goes on forever... I'm left standing here, I've got nothing to say- all is silent within my dream," the singer insisted.  
  
It was the best sleep I had in some time. As I lapsed into darkness without pain and a world where anything is possible, the last words filled me.  
  
"You're so far away and so long ago but my dream goes on forever. And how much I loved you you'll never know 'til you join me within my dream..."  
  
* * *  
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. 'A Dream Goes On Forever' belongs to Todd Rundgren, whoever the hell he was. Not me. So don't sue.  
  
NOTE: *SMILES GRIMLY* A whole lotta filler if I ever saw it. Basically an excuse to introduce some of the characters who will be appearing in a prequel to GUITC that's all about... (dun dun DUN!)... Kara Xavier. Or Kara Kirk, as she was known back in the day. *LAUGHS* And yes- Donna and Vi were the two breeding females who Splint rescued from the fire along with Kara. They are Jondy and Syl's X5 twins, respectively.  
  
But hey, at least I finally explained HOW the riot started and HOW Splint got killed. Not to mention Free got to tell just about everyone except that chick from 'Crossing Jordan' and the Prime Minister of Australia to shut up. Whee! :p  
  
Laters, all! 


End file.
